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Marthe and Abbe Faujas at Saint-Saturnin’s, 
Conquest of Plassans. 













































































THE 


CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

OR 

THE PRIEST IN THE HOUSE 


A REALISTIC NOVEL 


By EMILE ZOLA 

• i 

Author of “ Nana,” “ La Terre,” “L’Assommoir,” etc. 


TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT 


Edited by Edward Wharton Chalmers 
Copyright 1891 by Laird & Lee 



CHICAGO 

Laird & Lee, Publishers 
1891 


Emile Zola’s Powerful. Realistic Novels. 

“After reading Zola’s novels it seems as if in all others, ever 
in the truest, there were a veil between the reader and the things 
described, and there is present to our mind the same difference as 
exists between the representations of human faces on canvas and 
the reflection of the same faces in the mirror. It is like finding 
truth for the first time .—Signor de Amicm. 


NANA. Translated from the 127th French edition. 

LA TERRE. M. Zola says of this, one of his latest works, 
“I have endeavored to deal with the French peasant in this 
book.justasldealt with the Paris workman in ‘L’Assommoik.’ 
I have endeavored to write his history, to describe his manners, 
passions and sorrows in the fatal situations and circumstances 
in which he finds himself.” 

L* ASSO M MOIR. Translated from the 97th French edition. 
NANA’S DAUGHTER. A reply to “Nana.” 

A DREAM OF LOVE. 

POT BOUILLE. (Piping Hot!) Translated from the 87th 
French edition. 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE. Translated from the 84th 

French edition. 

NANA’S BROTHER GERMINAL. Translated from the 

47th French edition. 

ABBE MOURET’S TRANSGRESSION. Translated 

from the 52d French edition. 

THE JOYS OF LIFE. Translated from the 44th French 

edition. 

A LOVE EPISODE. Translated from the 526 French 

edition. 

HUMAN BRUTES. (LaBeteHumaine.) 

THERESE RAQUIN. Translated from the 47th French 

edition. 

THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. Translated from the 
34th French edition. 

MONEY. (L’Argent.) Zola’s latest. Just published. 

Above books are printed on good paper from large type, and are 
appropriately illustrated. T hey are the best editions of 
Emile Zola’s works published in America. 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 

263-2G5 Wabash Am.. CHICAGO, IML 




THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


I 

Desiree clapped her hands. She was fourteen years old 
and big and strong for her age, but she laughed like a 
little girl of five. 

“Mother! mother!” she cried, “look at my doll!” 

She showed her mother a piece of rag out of which 
she had been trying for the last quarter of an hour to 
manufacture a doll, rolling it up and constricting it at 
one end by the aid of a piece of string. Marthe raised 
her eyes from the stockings she was darning with as fine 
delicacy of work as though she were embroidering and 
smiled at Desiree. 

“Oh! but that’s only a baby,” she said; “you must 
make a grown-up doll and it must have a dress, you 
know, like a lady." 

She gave the child some clippings of print which sfye 
found on her work-table, and then she devoted all her 
attention again to her stockings. They were both sit¬ 
ting out at one end of the narrow terrace, the girl on 
a stool at her mother’s feet. The setting sun of a still 
warm September evening poured round them its calm 
peaceful rays; and the garden in front of them, which 
was already growing gray in the increasing dusk, was 
wrapped in perfect silence. Outside, not a sound could 
be heard in this quiet corner of the town. 

5 



6 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/tNS 


They both worked on for ten long minutes without 
speaking. Every few moments Marthe raised her head 
and glanced at the child with an expression in which 
sadness was mingled with affection. Seeing that the 
child’s task seemed too much for her, she at last said: 

“Give it to me. I will put in the sleeves for you.” 

As she took up the doll, two big lads of seventeen and 
eighteen came down the steps. They ran to Marthe 
and kissed her. 

“Don’t scold us, mother!” cried Octave gayly. "I took 
Serge to listen to the band. There was such a crowd 
in the Cours Sauvaire! ” 

"I thought you had been kept at the college,” his 
mother said, “or I should have felt very uneasy.” 

D£sir6e, now altogether indifferent to her doll, had 
already thrown her arms round Serge’s neck as she ex¬ 
claimed: 

“One of my birds has flown away! The blue one, the 
one you gave me!” 

She was on the point of crying. Her mother, who 
had imagined that this trouble was forgotten, in vain 
tried to divert her thoughts by showing her the doll. 
The girl clung to her brother’s arm and dragged him 
away with her as she continued to repeat: 

“Come and let us go look for it.” 

Serge followed her with kindly complaisance and 
tried to console her. She led him to a little conserva¬ 
tory, in front of which was a cage placed on a stand. 
Here the girl told him how the bird had escaped just 
as she was opening the door to prevent it fighting with 
a companion. 

“Well, there’s nothing very surprising in that!” cried 
Octave, who had seated himself on the balustrade of the 
terrace. “She is always interfering with them, and 
tries to find out how they are made and what it is they 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


7 


have in their throats that makes them sing. The other 
day she was carrying them about in her pockets the 
whole afternoon to keep them warm." 

“Octave!” said Marthe, in a tone of reproach; “don’t 
tease the poor child.” 

But Desiree had not heard him; she was explaining to 
Serge with much detail how the bird had flown away. 

“It just slipped out, you see, like that, and then flew over 
yonder and lighted on Monsieur Rastoil’s big pear-tree. 
Then it flew off to the plum-tree at the bottom, and I’ve 
never seen it again; no never again." 

Her eyes filled with tears. 

“Perhaps it will come back again,” Serge ventured to 
say. 

“Oh! do you think so? I think I will put the others 
into a box, and leave the door of the cage open all 
night. ” 

Octave could not restrain his laughter, but Marthe 
called out to Desiree: 

“Come and look here! come and look here! " 

She gave her the doll. It was a magnificent doll now. 
It had a stiff dress, a head made of a pad of calico, and 
arms of list sewn onto the shoulders. Desiree’s eyes 
lighted up with sudden joy. She sat down again upon 
the stool, and forgetting all about the bird, began to kiss 
the doll and dandle it in her arms with all the childish 
pleasure of a little girl. 

Serge had gone to lean upon the balustrade near his 
brother, and Marthe had resumed her knitting. 

“And so the band has been playing, has it?" she asked. 

“It plays every Thursday,” Octave replied. “You ought 
to have come and heard it, mother. All the town was 
there. Why didn’t you come too?” 

Marthe did not raise her eyes, but just said softly as 
she finished darning a hole: 


8 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“You know very well, my dears, that I don’t care 
about going out. I am quite contented here; and then it 
is necessary that some one should stay with Desiree.” 

Octave opened his lips to reply, but he glanced at his 
sister and kept silent. He remained where he was, 
whistling softly and raising his eyes to look at the trees 
of the sub-prefecture, noisy with the twittering of the 
sparrows who were preparing to go to rest for the night, 
and gazing at Monsieur Rastoil’s pear-trees behind which 
the sun was setting. Serge had taken a book out of his 
pocket and was reading it attentively. A soft, tranquil 
silence that seemed to breathe with mute affection, brood¬ 
ed over the terrace as it lay in the mellow, yellow light 
that was growing gradually fainter. Marthe continued 
busily darning, ever and anon glancing round at her 
three children in the peaceful quiet of the evening. 

“Everyone seems to be late to-day,” she said after a 
time. “It is nearly six o’clock, and your father hasn’t 
come home yet. I think he must have gone over to Les 
Tulettes. ” 

“Oh! then, no wonder he’s late!” Octave exclaimed. 
“The peasants at Les Tulettes are in no hurry to let 
him go when once they have got hold of him. Has he 
gone there to buy some wine?” 

“I don’t know,” Marthe replied; “He isn’t fond, you 
know, of talking about his business.” 

Then there was another interval of silence. In the 
dining-room, the window of which was opened widely 
onto the terrace, old Rose had just begun to lay the 
table with much angry-sounding clattering of crockery 
and plate. Then she went and stood at the street-door, 
and craning out her head, she reconnoitered the place of 
the sub-prefecture. After some minutes’ waiting, she 
came up to the terrrace-steps and cried: 

"Monsieur Mouret isn’t coming home todinner, then?" 


the conquest of PLASSANS 9 

"Yes, Rose, wait a little longer,” Marthe replied quietly. 

"Everything is getting burned to cinders! There’s 
no sense in such ways. When master is going off on 
these rounds he ought to give us notice! Well, it’s all 
the same to me; but your dinner will be quite uneatable.” 

"Ah! do you really think so, Rose?” asked a tranquil 
voice just behind her. "We will eat it, notwithstand¬ 
ing." 

It was Mouret who had just returned. Rose turned 
round and looked her master in the face and seemed on 
the point of breaking out into some angry exclamation; 
but at the sight of his perfectly unruffled countenance, 
in which was twinkling an expression of merry banter 
she could not find a word to say, and so she retired. 
Mouret made his way to the terrace, where he paced about 
without sitting down. He just tapped Desiree lightly on 
the cheek with the tips of his fingers, and the girl greet¬ 
ed him with a responsive smile. Marthe raised her eyes, 
and when she had glanced at her husband, she began to 
fold up her work. 

"Aren’t you tired?” asked Octave, looking at his fath¬ 
er’s boots which were white with dust. 

"Yes, indeed, a little,” Mouret replied, without say¬ 
ing anything more about the long journey which he had 
just made on foot. 

Then he caught sight of a spade and a rake in the mid¬ 
dle of the garden, which the children had forgotten to 
put away. 

"Why are the tools not put away?" he cried. "I have 
spoken about it a hundred times. If it came on to rain, 
they would be completely rusted and spoilt.” 

He said no more on the subject, but stepped down in¬ 
to the garden and picked up the spade and rake himself, 
and put them carefully away inside the little conserva¬ 
tory. As he came up again onto the terrace, his eyes 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


10 

pried into every corner of the walks to see if there was 
any other departure from orderliness. 

“Are you learning your lessons?” he asked, as he passed 
Serge, who was still poring over his book. 

“No, father,” the boy replied; “this is a book that 
the Abb6 Bourrette has lent me. It is an account of the 
missions in China.” 

Mouret stopped short in front of his wife. 

"By the way,” he said, “has anyone been here?" 

“No, no one, my dear,” replied Marthe with an appear¬ 
ance of surprise. 

He seemed on the point of saying something further, 
but he appeared to change his mind, and he continued 
pacing up and down in silence. Then, going to the 
steps, he cried out: 

“Well, Rose, what about this dinner of yours which 
is getting burnt to cinders?" 

“Oh, indeed! there is nothing ready for you now!” 
shouted the angry voice of the cook from the other end 
of the passage. “Everything is cold. You will have to 
wait, sir.” 

Mouret smiled in silence and winked his left eye, as 
he glanced at his wife and children. Then he occupied 
himself by examining his neighbor’s fruit-trees. 

“It is surprising what splendid pears Monsieur Rastoil 
has got this year,” he remarked. 

Marthe, who had appeared a little uneasy for the last 
few minutes, seemed as though she wanted to say some¬ 
thing. At last she made up her mind to speak, and 
said timidly: 

“Were you expecting some one to-day, my dear?” 

“Yes and no,” he replied begining to walk up and 
down the terrace again. 

“Perhaps you have let the second floor?” 

“Yes, indeed, I have let it.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


11 


Then, as the unbroken silence was becoming a little 
embarrassing, he added, in his tranquil tones: 

“This morning, before starting for Les Tulettes, I 
went up to see the Abb6 Bourrette. He was very press¬ 
ing and so I agreed. I know it won’t please you; but if 
you will only think the matter over a little you will see 
that you are wrong, my dear. The second floor was of 
no use to us, and it was only going to ruin. The fruit 
that we store in the rooms creates a dampness which 
causes the paper to fall from the walls. By the way, 
now that I think of it, don’t forget to remove the fruit 
the first thing to-morrow. Our tenant may arrive at any 
moment." 

“We were so free and comfortable, all alone in our 
own house," Marthe ventured to say, in low tones. 

“Oh, well! " replied Mouret, “we shall not find a priest 
very much in our way. He will keep to himself, and 
we shall keep to ourselves. These black-robed gentle¬ 
men hide themselves when they want to swallow even 
a glass of water. You know that I am not very partial 
to them myself. A set of pretenders, for the most part! 
And yet what chiefly decided me to let the floor was that 
I had happened to meet with a priest fora tenant. One 
is quite sure of one’s money with them, and they are so 
quiet that one can’t even hear them putting the key into 
the lock." 

Marthe still continued to appear distressed. She looked 
round her at the happy home basking in the sun’s fare¬ 
well beams, at the garden that was now growing grayer 
in the evening dusk, and at her children. And she thought 
of all the happiness which this little spot held for her. 

“And do you know anything about this priest?" she 
asked. 

“No, but the Abbe Bourrette has taken the floor in 
his own name, and that is quite sufficient. The Abbe 


12 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


Bourrette is an honorable man. I know that our tenant 
is called Faujas, the Abb6 Faujas, and that he comes 
from the diocese of Besancon. He didn’t get on very 
well with his vicar, and so he has been appointed curate 
here at St. Saturnin’s. Perhaps he knows our bishop. 
Monseigneur Rousselot. But all this is no business 
of ours, you know; and it is to the Abbe Bourrette that 
I am trusting in the whole matter.” 

Marthe, however, did not seem to share her; husband’s 
confidence, and she continued to stand out against him, a 
thing which very seldom happened. 

“You are right,” she said, after a moment’s silence; 
“the Abbe is a worthy man. But I recollect that when 
he came to look at the rooms, he told me that he did 
not know the name of the person on whose behalf he was 
commissioned to hire them. I really think that you ought 
to write to Besancon and make some inquiries as to what 
sort of a person it is that you are introducing into your 
house. ” 

Mouret tried to suppress his feeling of irritation, and 
he smiled complacently. 

“Well, it isn’t the devil, anyhow. Why, you’re trem¬ 
bling all over. I didn’t think you were so superstitious. 
You surely don’t believe that priests bring ill luck, as 
folks say. Neither, indeed, do they bring good luck. 
They are just like other men. Well! well! you’ll see, 
when we get this Abb<§ here, if I’m afraid of his cas¬ 
sock! ” 

“No, I’m not superstitious; you know that quite well,” 
Marthe replied. “I only feel unhappy about it, that's all." 

He came and stood in front of her, and interrupted her 
with a sharp motion of his hand. 

“There! there! that will do,” he said. “I have let 
the rooms; don’t let us say anything more about the 
matter. ” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


13 


Then, in the bantering tones of a city man who thinks 
he has done a good stroke of business, he added: 

“At any rate one thing is certain, and that is that I am 
to get a hundred and fifty francs rent, to spend over the 
house every year.” 

Marthe bent her head down, and made no further 
protestations except by vaguely rocking her hands, while 
she closed her eyes as though to prevent the escape of 
the tears which were already swelling beneath her eye¬ 
lids. She cast a furtive glance at her children, who had 
not appeared to hear anything of the discussion she was 
having with their father, accustomed as they were to 
scenes of this sort in which Mouret’s bantering nature 
delighted to indulge. 

“You can come in now, if you would like something 
to eat,” said Rose with her crabby voice, as she came 
out onto the steps. 

“Ah, that’s right! Come along, children, to your 
soup! ” Mouret cried gayly, without appearing to retain 
any trace of displeasure. 

All the family rose. Then Desiree’s grief seemed to 
reawaken at the sight of everyone stirring. She threw 
her arms around her father’s neck and stammered out: 

“Oh, papa, one of my birds has flown away!” 

“One of your birds, my dear? Well, we’ll catch it 
again. ” 

Then he began to caress her and fondle her, but she 
insisted that he, too, should go and look at the cage. 
When he brought, her back again, Marthe and her two 
sons were already in the dining-room. The rays of the 
setting sun streaming in through the window brightly 
lighted up the porcelain plates, the children’s mugs and 
the white cloth. The room was cool and peaceful with 
its green back-ground of garden. 

Just as Marthe, upon whom the tranquillity of the 


14 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


scene had had a soothing effect, was smilingly removing 
the cover from the soup, a noise was heard in the pas¬ 
sage. 

Rose rushed into the room with a scared look and 
stammered out: 

“His reverence the Abbe Faujas has come!" 


II 

An expression of annoyance passed across Mouret’s face. 
He had not expected his tenant till the following morn¬ 
ing at the earliest. He was just rising hastily from his 
seat when the Abbe Faujas himself appeared at the door. 
He was a tall big man, with a square face and large 
features and cadaverous complexion. Behind him, in 
the shadow, there was an elderly lady, who bore an as¬ 
tonishing resemblance to him, only she was smaller and 
wore a less refined expression. When they saw the ta¬ 
ble laid for a meal, they both seemed to hesitate and 
stepped back discreetly, though without going away 
again. The tall black figure of the priest contrasted 
mournfully with the cheerfulness of the white-washed 
walls. 

“We must ask your pardon for disturbing you,” he 
said to Mouret. “We have just left the Abb6 Bour- 
rette's; he no doubt gave you notice of our coming?” 

“Not at all!” Mouret exclaimed. “The Abbe never 
behaves like other people. He always seems as though 
he had just come down from paradise. It was only this 
morning, sir, that he told me you would not be here 
for another couple of days. Well, we must put you in 
possession of your rooms all the same.” 

The Abb6 Faujas apologized. He spoke with a deep 
voice of great softness. He was extremely distressed, 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


15 


he said, to have arrived at such a moment. When he had 
expressed his regret without any superfluous phrases in 
a very few well-chosen words, he turned round to pay 
the porter who had brought his trunk. His large well¬ 
shaped hands drew from the folds of his cassock a purse 
of which nothing but its rings of steel could be seen. 
Keeping his head bent down, he carefully felt about in 
it, for a moment or two, with his fingers. Then, with¬ 
out anyone having seen the piece of money which he 
had received, the porter went away, and the priest re¬ 
sumed in his refined tones: 

“I beg you, sir, to sit down again. Your servant will 
show us the rooms, and will help me carry this.” 

As he spoke, he stooped down to grasp one of the 
handles of the trunk. It was a small wood trunk, bound 
at the edges with iron bands, and one of its sides seemed 
to have been repaired with a cross-piece of deal. Mouret 
looked surprised, and his eyes wandered off in search of 
other luggage, but he could see nothing else except a 
big basket, which the elderly lady carried in her hands, 
holding it in front of her, and seeming obstinately deter¬ 
mined not to put it down. Underneath the lid, which 
was a little raised, there peeped out from amongst bun¬ 
dles of linen the end of a comb wrapped up in paper and 
the neck of a clumsily corked bottle. 

"Oh! don't trouble yourself with that,” said Mouret, just 
touching the trunk with his foot; “it can't be very heavy, 
and Rose will be quite able to carry it up by herself." 

He was quite unconscious of the contertipt which his 
words seemed to breathe. The elderly lady looked at 
him keenly with her black eyes, and then her glance 
again fell upon the dining-room and the table, which she 
had been examining ever since her arrival. She kept 
her lips tightly compressed, while her eyes strayed from 
one object to another. She had not uttered a single word. 


16 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSJNS 


The Abbe Faujas consented to leave his trunk. In the 
yellow rays of the sunlight which streamed in from the 
garden, his threadbare cassock looked quite red; its 
edges were bordered with a fringe of patches; and though 
it was very neat and tidy, it seemed so sadly thin and 
worn that Marthe, who had hitherto remained seated in 
a sort of uneasy reserve, now rose in her turn from her 
seat. The Abb6, who had merely cast a rapid glance at 
her, and then quickly turned his eyes elsewhere, saw 
her leave her chair although he did not appear to be 
watching her. 

“I beg of you,’* he repeated, “not to disturb yourselves. 
We should be extremely distressed to interfere with 
your dinner.” 

“Very well," said Mouret, who was hungry, “Rose 
shall show you up. Tell her to get you anything you 
want, and make yourselves at home.” 

The Abbe Faujas bowed and was making his way to 
the staircase when Marthe stepped up to her husband 
and whispered: 

“But, my dear, you have forgotten—” 

“What? what?" he asked, seeing her hesitate. 

“There is the fruit, you know.” 

“Oh, bother it all, so there is!" he exclaimed with an 
expression of annoyance. 

And, as the Abb£ Faujas returned and glanced at him 
questioningly, he said to him: 

“lam extremely vexed, sir. Father Bourrette is a 
very worthy man, but it is a little unfortunate that you 
commissioned him to look after your business. He hasn’t 
got the least bit of a head. If we had only known of 
your coming, we would have had everything ready; but, 
as it is, we shall have to clear the whole place out for 
ypu. We h^ve been using the rooms, you see, and we 


THE CONQUEST OF FLASSANS 


17 


have stowed away on the floors upstairs all our crop of 
fruit, figs, apples and grapes.” 

The priest listened to him with a surprise which all 
his politeness did not enable him to entirely hide. 

"But, it won't take us long,” Mouret continued. "If 
you don’t mind waiting for ten minutes, Rose will get 
the rooms cleared for you.” 

A troubled expression passed over the priest’s cadaver¬ 
ous face. 

"The rooms are furnished, are they not?” he asked. 

"Not at all; there isn’t a bit of furniture in them. 

We have never occupied them.” 

Then the Abbe lost his self-control and his gray eyes # 
flashed brightly as he exclaimed with suppressed indig¬ 
nation; 

"But I gave distinct instructions in my letter that fur¬ 
nished rooms were to be taken. I could scarcely bring 
my furniture along with me in my trunk." 

"Well, that justs fits in with what I have been say¬ 
ing! ” cried Mouret, in louder tones. "The way that 
Bourrette goes on is quite incredible. He certainly saw 
the apples when he came to look at the rooms, sir, for 
he took one of them up and remarked that he had rarely 
seen such a fine one. He said that everything seemed 
quite suitable and that the rooms were all that was nec¬ 
essary, and he took them.” 

The Abbe Faujas was no longer listening to Mouret, 
and his cheeks were flushed with anger. He turned 
round and said in a disturbed and broken voice: 

"Do you hear, mother? There is no furniture." * 

The old lady, with her thin black shawl drawn tightly 
round her, had just been inspecting the ground-floor 
with little furtive steps, but without ever putting down 
her basket. She had gone up to the door of the kitchen 
and had scrutinized the four walls, . and then, standing 
z 


18 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


on the steps that overlooked the terrace, she had taken 
in all the garden witli a long, searching glance. But 
it was the dining-room that seemed to especially interest 
her, and she was now standing again in front of the table 
laid for dinner, and was watching the steam of the soup 
rise up, when her son repeated. 

‘‘Do you hear, mother? We shall have to go to the 
hotel. ” 

She raised her head without making any reply; but the 
expression of her whole face seemed to speak a determi¬ 
nation not to leave this house, with whose every corner 
she had already made herself acquainted. 

Mouret, however, was beginning to grow impatient. 
As he saw that neither the mother nor her son seemed 
to have made up their minds to leave the place, he 
said: 

“We have, unfortunately, no beds; but there is, in the 
loft, a folding-bed, which perhaps, at a pinch, madame 
might make do until to-morrow. But I really don’t 
know how his reverence is to manage to sleep." 

Then at last Madame Faujas opened her lips. She 
spoke in short and somewhat hoarse tones. 

“My son will take the folding-bed. A mattress on the 
floor, in a corner, will be quite sufficient for me.” 

The Abbe signified his approval of this arrangement by 
nodding his head. Mouret was going to protest and try 
to think of some other way, but, seeing the satisfied ap¬ 
pearance of his new tenants, he kept silence and merely 
exchanged a glance of astonishment with his wife. 

“To-morrow, it will be light," he said, with his touch 
of middle-class banter, “and you will be able to furnish 
as you like. Rose will come up and clear away the fruit 
and make the beds. Will you wait for a few moments 
on the terrace? Come, children, bring a couple of chairs 
out." 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


19 


Since the arrival of the priest and his mother, the 
young people had remained quietly seated at the table 
and had scrutinized them curiously. The Abbe had not 
appeared to notice them, but Madame Faujas had 
stopped for a moment before each of them and stared 
them keenly in the face as though she were trying to 
look into their young heads. As they heard their father’s 
words, they all three hastened to rise and take out the 
chairs. 

The old lady did not sit down; and when Mouret, los¬ 
ing sight of her, turned round to find out what had be¬ 
come of her, he saw her standing before one of the half- 
opened windows of the drawing-room. She craned out 
her neck and completed her inspection with all the calm 
deliberation of a person examining a property for sale. 
Just as Rose took up the little trunk she returned into 
the passage, and said quietly: 

“I will come up and help you.” 

Then she went upstairs after the servant. The priest 
did not even turn his head : he was smiling at the three 
young people who were still standing in front of him. In 
spite of the hardness of his brow and the stern lines 
about his mouth, his face was capable of an expression 
of great gentleness, when he chose to assume it. 

"Is this the whole of your family, madame?” he asked 
of Marthe, who had just come up to him. 

"Yes, sir," she replied, feeling a little confused be¬ 
neath the clear gaze which he bent upon her. 

Looking again at her children, he continued: 

"You* ve got two big lads there, who will soon be men. 
Have you finished your studies yet, my boy?" 

It was Serge to whom he addressed this question. 
Mouret interrupted the lad as he was going to reply. 

"Yes, he has finished,” said the father; "though he is 
the younger of the two. When I say . that he has finished, 


20 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


I mean that he has taken his degree, for he is staying 
on at college for another year to go through a course of 
philosophy. He is the clever one of the family. His 
brother, the eldest, that great booby there, isn’t up to 
much. He has been already plucked twice for his de¬ 
gree, but he still goes on idling his time away and is 
always larking about.’' 

Octave listened to his father’s reproaches with a 
smile, while Serge bent his head beneath his praises. 
Faujas seemed to be studying them for a moment in si¬ 
lence, and then, going up to Desiree and putting on his 
expression of gentle tenderness, he said to her: 

“Will you allow me, mademoiselle, to be your friend?” 

She made no reply but went, half afraid, to hide her 
face against her mother’s shoulder. The latter, instead 
of making her uncover her face again, pressed her more 
closely to her, clasping her arm round her waist. 

“Excuse her,” she said with a touch of sadness, "she 
has not a very strong head and she has remained quite 
childish. She is weak-minded, and we do not trouble 
her by attempting to teach her anything. She is four¬ 
teen years old now, and she has learned nothing except 
a love for animals.” 

Desiree’s confidence returned to her under her mother’s 
caresses, and she lifted up her head and smiled. Then 
she said boldly: 

“I should like you very much to be my friend; but you 
must promise me that you will never hurt the flies. 
Will you?” 

And then, as every one about her began to smile, she 
added gravely: 

“Octave crushes them, the poor flies. It is very wick¬ 
ed of him.” 

The Abbe Faujas sat down. He seemed very tired. 
He gave himself up for a moment or two to the cool 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


21 


quietness of the terrace, and cast lingering glances over 
the garden and the neighboring trees. 

“It is very pleasant here,” he murmured. 

Then he relapsed into silence, and seemed quite ab¬ 
sorbed and lost in a reverie. He started slightly as 
Mouret said to him with a laugh: 

“If you will allow us, sir, we will now go back to our 
dinner.” 

And then, catching a glance from his wife, his landlord 
added: 

“You must come and sit down with us and have a plate 
of soup. It will save you the trouble of having to go to 
the hotel to dine. Don’t make any difficulty, I beg.” 

“I am extremely obliged to you, but we really don’t 
require anything, ” the Abb£ replied in tones of excessive 
politeness, which allowed of no repetition of the invi¬ 
tation. 

Then the Mourets returned to the dining-room and 
seated themselves round the table. Marthe served the 
soup and there was soon a cheerful clatter of spoons. 
The young people chattered merrily, and Desiree broke 
out into a peal of ringing laughter as she listened to a 
story her father, who was now in high glee at having at 
last got to his dinner, was telling. In the meantime, 
the Abbe Faujas, whom they had quite forgotten,remained 
sitting perfectly motionless upon the terrace, facing the 
setting sun. He did not even turn his head, and seemed 
to hear nothing of what was going on behind him. Just 
as the sun was disappearing he took off his hat, overcome 
by the heat. Marthe, who was sitting with her face to 
the window, could see his great bare head with its short 
hair that was already silvering about the temples. A last 
red ray was lighting up his stern soldier-like head, on 
which the tonsure lay like a cicatrized wound from the 
blow of a club; then the ray faded away and the priest, 


22 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


now wrapped in shadow, was nothing more than a black 
outline against the ashy gray of the gloaming. 

Not wishing to summon Rose, Marthe herself went to 
get a lamp and brought in the first dish. As she was re¬ 
turning from the kitchen, she met, at the foot of the 
staircase, a woman whom she did not at first recognize. 
It was Madame Faujas. She had put on a cotton cap 
and looked like a servant in her common print dress, 
with a yellow handkerchief crossed over her breast and 
knotted behind her waist. Her wrists were bared and 
she was still quite out of breath with the work she had 
been doing, and her heavy laced boots clattered on the 
flooring of the passage. 

“Ah! you’ve got all put right now, have you, madame!” 
Marthe asked with a smile. 

“Oh yes! it was a mere trifle and was done directly,“ 
Madame Faujas replied. 

She went down the steps that led to the terrace, and 
in gentler tones she said: 

"Ovide, my child, will you come upstairs now? Every¬ 
thing is quite ready.” 

She was obliged to go and lay her hand upon her son's 
shoulder to awaken him from his reverie. The air was 
growing sharp, and the Abbe shivered as he got up and 
followed his mother in silence. As he passed before 
the door of the dining-room that was all bright with the 
cheerful glow of the lamp and merry with the chatter of 
the young folks, he put his head inside and said in his 
flexible tones: 

“Let me thank you again and beg you to excuse us for 
having so disturbed you. We are very sorry—” 

“No! no!" cried Mouret, “it is we who are sorry and 
distressed at not being able to offer you better accom¬ 
modation for the night." 

The priest bowed aftd Marthe again met that clear 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


23 


gaze of his, that eagle glance which had so affected her 
before. In the depths of his eyes, which were generally 
of a melancholy gray, passing flames seemed to gleam, 
like lamps carried behind the windows of some slumber¬ 
ing house. 

“His eyes don’t seem to be in any danger of growing 
dim yet,” Mouret said, jokingly, when the mother and 
son had retired. 

“I don’t think they seem very well off,” Marthe re¬ 
marked. 

"Well, at any rate, he isn’t carrying Peru about with 
him in that box of his,” Mouret exclaimed. “And it’s 
so precious heavy, too! Why, I could have raised it up 
with the tip of my little finger!" 

He was interrupted in his flow of chatter by Rose, who 
had just come running down the stairs to relate the ex¬ 
traordinary things she had witnessed. 

“Well, she is a wonderful creature, indeed!" she cried, 
posting herself in front of the table at which the family 
were eating. “She’s sixty-five at least, but she doesn’t 
show it at all, and she bustles about, and works like a 
horse!” 

“Did she help you to remove the fruit?" Mouret asked, 
with some curiosity. 

“Yes, indeed, she did, sir! She carried it away in her 
apron, filling it with loads heavy enough to burst it. I 
kept saying to myself, ‘It will certainly go this time,’ 
but it didn’t. It is made of good strong material, the 
same kind of material as I wear myself. We made at 
least ten journeys backward and forward, but she only 
grumbled, and complained that we were getting on very 
slowly. I really believe, begging your pardons for men¬ 
tioning it, that I heard her swear." 

Mouret appeared to be greatly amused. 

“And the beds?" he asked. 


24 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


"The beds, she made them too. It was quite a sight 
to see her turn the mattress over. It seemed to weigh 
nothing, I can tell you. And yet she is very careful and 
particular with it all. She tucked in the folding-bed as 
carefully as though she were preparing a baby’s cradle. 
She couldn’t have laid the sheet with greater devotion 
if the Infant Jesus Himself had been going to sleep there. 
She has put three out of the four blankets upon the fold¬ 
ing bed. And it is just the same with the pillows; she 
has kept none for herself, but has given both to her son. 

"She is going to sleep on the floor, then?" 

"In a corner, just like a dog! She has thrown down 
a mattress on the floor of the other room, and says she 
will sleep there more soundly than if she were in para¬ 
dise. She says that she is never cold, and that her head 
is much too hard to make her at all afraid of lying on 
the floor. I have taken them some sugar and some water, 
as madame told me. Oh, they really are the strangest 
people!" 

Rose brought in the remainder of the dinner. That 
evening the Mourets discussed the new tenants at great 
length. In their life, which went on with all the even 
regularity of clock-work, the arrival of these two stran¬ 
gers was a very exciting event. Mouret was especially 
fond of indulging in the chattering gossip of a little pro¬ 
vincial town. During dessert, as he leaned his elbows 
on the table in the cool dining-room, he repeated for 
the tenth time with the self-satisfied air of a well-to-do 
happy man: 

"It certainly isn’t a very handsome present that Bes- 
ancon has made to Plassans! Did you notice the back 
of his cassock as he turned round? I shall be very much 
surprised if he is much run after by the pious folks 
here. He is too seedy and threadbare • and the pious 
folks like well-looking priests." 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


25 


“He has a very sweet voice,” said Marthe indulgently. 

“Not when he is angry, at any rate,” Mouret replied. 
"Didn't you hear him when he burst out on finding that 
the rooms were not furnished? He is a hard, stern man, 
and not the sort, I should think, to go lounging in con¬ 
fessional-boxes. I shall be very curious to see how he 
sets about his furnishing, to-morrow. But as long as 
he pays me, I don't much mind anything else. If he 
doesn’t, I shall apply to the Abbe Bourette. It was 
with him that I made the bargain.” 

It was not a devout family. The children themselves 
made fun of the Abb6 and his mother. Octave bur¬ 
lesqued the old lady's ways of craning her neck to see to 
the end of the rooms, a performance which made Desiree 
laugh. 

Serge, who was of a more serious turn of mind, stood 
up for “these poor people.” As a rule, precisely at ten 
o’clock, if he was not playing at piquet, Mouret took up 
his candlestick and went off to bed, but this evening 
eleven o’clock had struck, and he was not yet feeling 
drowsy. Desiree had fallen asleep, with her head lying 
on Marthe's knees. The two lads had gone up to their 
room; and Mouret, left alone with his wife, was still 
gossiping on. 

“How old do you suppose he is?” he asked suddenly. 

“Who?” said Marthe, who was now beginning to feel 
very sleepy. 

“Who? Why, the Abb£, of course! Between forty 
and forty-five, eh? He’s a fine strapping fellow. It's a 
pity for him to be wearing a cassock! He would have 
made a splendid carbineer.” 

Then, after an interval of silence, he continued in a 
loud voice the reflections which were quite exercising 
his mind: 

“They arrived by the quarter to seven train. They 


26 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

must only have had just time to call on the Abbe Bour- 
rette before coming on here. I dare wager that they 
haven’t dined. That is quite clear. We should certainly 
have seen them if they had gone out to the hotel. Ah, 
now! I should very much like to know where they can 
have had anything to eat.” 

Rose had been lingering about in the dining-room for 
the last few moments, waiting till her master and mistress 
should go to bed that she might be at liberty to fasten 
the doors and windows. 

“I know where they had something to eat,” she 
said. 

And as Mouret turned himself briskly toward her, she 
added: 

”Yes, I had gone upstairs again to see if there was 
anything they wanted. As I heard no sound, I didn’t 
venture to knock at the door, and I looked through the^ 
key-hole.” 

“But that was very improper of you, very improper,” 
Marthe interrupted, severely. “You know very well, 
Rose, that I don’t approve of anything of that kind.” 

“Leave her alone and let her go on!” cried Mouret, 
who, under other circumstances, would have been very 
angry with the inquisitive woman. “You looked through 
the key-hole, then?” 

“Yes, sir; I thought it was the best plan?” 

“Clearly so. What were they doing?” 

“Well, sir, they were eating. I saw them sitting on 
the corner of the folding-bed and eating. The old lady 
had spread out a napkin. Every time that they helped 
themselves to the wine, they corked the bottle and laid 
it down against the pillow.” 

“But what were they eating?” 

"I couldn’t quite tell, sir. It seemed to me like the 
remains of a pie wrapped up in a newspaper. They had 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 27 

some apples as well—little apples that looked good for 
nothing.” 

“They were talking, I suppose? Did you hear what 
they said?” 

"No, sir; they were not talking. I stayed for a good 
quarter of an hour watching them, but they never said 
anything. They were much too busy eating!” 

Marthe got up and woke Desiree, and made as though 
she were going off to bed. Her husband’s curiosity 
vexed her. He, too, at last made up his mind to go up 
stairs, while old Rose, who was a pious creature, went 
on in lower tones: 

"The poor, dear man must have been frightfully hun¬ 
gry. His mother handed him the biggest pieces and 
watched him swallow them with delight. And now, he 
will sleep in some nice white sheets; unless, indeed, the 
smell of the fruit keeps him awake. And there isn’t a 
bit of furniture in the whole room, nothing but the bed 
in the corner! If I were he, I should feel quite fright¬ 
ened, and I should keep the light burning all night.” 

Mouret had taken up his candlestick. He stood for a 
moment before Rose, and summed up the .events of the 
evening in these words: 

"It is extraordinary!” 

Then he joined his wife at the foot of the staircase. 
She had got into bed and had fallen asleep, while he was 
still continuing to listen to the slight sounds that pro¬ 
ceeded from the upper floor. The Abbe’s room was just 
over his own. He heard the window being gently opened, 
and this excited his curiosity extremely. He raised 
his head from his pillow and struggled strenuously 
against his increasing drowsiness, feeling very anxious 
to find out how long the Abbe would remain at the 
window. But sleep was too strong for him, and Mouret 
was snoring noisily before he had been able to catch 


28 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


again the grating sound of the window-fastening. 

Up above, the Abbe Faujas was gazing, bare-headed, 
out of his window into the black night, and absorbed in 
those thoughts which gave his brow such an expression 
of sternness. There was a touch of scorn in the way in 
which he stretched out his muscular neck, as he raised 
his head to gaze out upon the town that lay slumbering 
in the distance. The tall trees in the garden of the 
Sub-Prefecture formed a mass of gloomy darkness, and 
Monsieur Rastoil’s pear-trees shot out their scraggy, 
twisted branches, while, further away, there was noth¬ 
ing but a sea of black shadow, a perfect blank nothing¬ 
ness, from which not a sound proceeded. The town lay 
as tranquilly asleep as an infant in its cradle. 

The Abb£ Faujas stretched out his arms with an air 
of ironic defiance, as though he would have liked to cir¬ 
cle them round Plassans, and squeeze the life out of it by 
crushing it against his brawny chest, while he mur¬ 
mured to himself: 

“Ah! the imbeciles, who laughed at me this evening, 
as they saw me going through their streets!” 


Ill 

Mouret spent the whole of the next morning in playing 
the spy over his new tenant. Henceforth he would have 
an occupation, an amusement which would relieve the 
monotony of his everyday life. As he had often said, 
he was not partial to priests, and the first one who had 
entered into his existence excited in him an extraordinary 
amount of interest. Although Mouret was a strong- 
minded man and professed himself to be a follower of 
Voltaire, in the Abbe’s presence he felt a touch of un¬ 
easiness mingled with a strong feeling of curiosity. 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSs4NS 


29 


Not a sound came from the second floor. Mouret stood 
on the staircase and listened eagerly, and he even vent¬ 
ured to go to the loft. As he hushed his steps when 
passing along the passage, a pattering of slippers behind 
the door filled him with great excitement. Not succeed¬ 
ing in making any new discovery, he went down into the 
garden and strolled into the arbor at the end of it, rais¬ 
ing his eyes and trying to look through the windows and 
find out what was going on in the rooms. But he could 
not see even the Abba’s shadow. Madame Faujas, in the 
absence of curtains, had, as a make-shift, fastened up 
some sheets behind the windows. 

At breakfast Mouret seemed quite vexed. 

“Are they dead upstairs?” he said, as he cut the chil¬ 
dren’s bread. “Have you heard them move, Marthe?” 

“No, my dear; but I haven’t been listening.” 

Rose cried out from the kitchen: 

“They’ve been gone out ever so long. They’ll be far 
enough away now if they’ve kept on at the same pace.” 

Mouret summoned the cook and questioned her 
minutely. 

“They went out, sir; first the mother and then the 
priest. They were walking so softly that I should never 
have known anything about it if their shadows had not 
fallen across the kitchen floor when they opened the door. 
I looked out into the street to see where they were going, 
but they had vanished. They must have gone off in a 
hurry. ” 

“It is very surprising. But where was I at the time?” 

“I think you were in the garden, sir, looking at the 
grapes on the arbor.” 

Mouret, contrary to his usual custom, resolved to re¬ 
main at home. He pottered up and down between the 
dining-room and the garden, poking about and pretend¬ 
ing that nothing was in its place and that the house 


30 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


simply invited thieves. Then he got indignant with 
Serge and Octave, who had set off for college, he said, 
quite half an hour too soon. 

“Isn’t father going out?” Desiree whispered in her 
mother’s ear. “He will worry us all to death if he stays 
at home.” 

Marthe hushed her. At last Mouret went away, quite 
distressed that he could not remain and see what hap¬ 
pened. 

When he returned in the evening he was all on fire 
with curiosity. 

“Well, what about the Abb£?” he asked, without giv¬ 
ing himself time to take off his hat. 

Marthe was working in her usual place on the terrace. 

“The Abbd!” she repeated, with an appearance of sur¬ 
prise. “Oh, yes! the Abb6—I’ve really seen nothing of 
him, but I believe he has got settled down now. Rose 
told me that some furniture had come.” 

“That’s just what I was afraid of!” exclaimed Mouret. 
“I wanted to be here when it came; for, you see, the 
furniture is my security. I knew quite well that you 
would never think of stirring from your chair. Rose! 
Rose!” 

When the cook appeared in answer to his summons, 
he said to her: 

“There’s some furniture come for the people on the 
second floor?” 

“Yes, sir; it came in a little covered cart. I recog¬ 
nized it as Bergasse’s, the second-hand dealer’s. It 
wasn’t a big load. Madame Faujas came on behind it. I 
dare say she had been giving the man who pushed it along 
a helping hand up the Rue Balande.” 

“At any rate, you saw the furniture, I suppose? Did 
you notice what there was?" 

“Certainly, sir. I had posted myself by the door, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


31 


and it all went past me, which didn’t seem to please 
Madame Faujas very much. First of all they brought 
up an iron bedstead, then a chest of drawers, then two 
tables and four chairs; and that was the whole lot of 
it. And it wasn’t new, either. I wouldn’t have given 
ninety francs for the whole collection.” 

‘‘But you should have told madame; we cannot let the 
rooms under such conditions. I will go at once and talk 
to the Abb6 Bourrette about the matter.” 

He was fuming with irritation and was just setting off, 
when Marthe brought him to a sudden halt by saying: 

“Oh! I had forgotten to tell you. They have paid me 
six months’ rent in advance.” 

“What! They have paid you?” he stammered out, 
almost in a tone of annoyance. 

“Yes, the old lady came down and gave me this.” 

She put her hand into her work-bag, and gave her hus¬ 
band seventy-five francs in hundred-sou-pieces, neatly 
wrapped up in a piece of newspaper. Mouret counted the 
money as he said: 

“As long as they pay, they are quite free to stay. But 
they are strange folks, all the same. Everyone can’t be 
rich, of course; but that is no reason why one should 
behave in this suspicious manner, when one’s poor.” 

“There is something else I have to tell you,” Marthe 
continued, as she saw him calmed down. “The old lady 
asked me if we were disposed to part with the folding- 
bed to her. I told her that she was welcome to keep it 
as long as she liked.” 

"You did quite right. We must do what we can to 
oblige them. As I have told you before, what bothers 
me about these confounded priests is that one never can 
tell what they are thinking about, or what they are up 
to. Apart from that, you will often find very honorable 
men amongst them.” 


32 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS 4 NS 


The money seemed to have consoled him. He joked 
and teased Serge about his book on the Chinese mis¬ 
sions, which the boy happened to be reading just then. 
During dinner, he affected to feel no longer any curios¬ 
ity about the tenants of the second floor; but, when 
Octave mentioned that he had seen the Abb6 Faujas leav¬ 
ing the Bishop’s residence, Mouret could not restrain 
himself any further. When the dessert was put on the 
table he recommenced his talk of the previous evening, 
though afterward he began to feel a little ashamed of 
himself. 

“After all,” he said, as he went off to bed, “one has no 
business to go prying into other people’s affairs. The 
Abb6 is quite at liberty to do as he pleases. It is get¬ 
ting wearisome to be always talking about these people, 
and I, for my part, shall say nothing more about them, 
now." 

A week passed away. Mouret had resumed his habit¬ 
ual course of life. He prowled about the house, lectured 
his children, and spent his afternoons away from home, 
amusing himself by transacting various bits of business, 
of which he never spoke, and he ate and slept like a 
man for whom life is an easy down-hill journey, with¬ 
out any jolts or surprises of any kind. The whole place 
sank back into all its old monotony. Marthe occupied her 
accustomed place on the terrace, with her little work¬ 
table in front of her. D£sir£e played by her side. The 
two lads came home at the usual times, with all their 
old noisy behavior; and Rose, the cook, grumbled and 
growled at everyone; while the garden and the dining¬ 
room retained all their wonted sleepy calm. 

Mouret occasionally raised his eyes toward the second- 
floor windows, which Madame Faujas had hung with thick 
cotton curtains, on the day after her arrival. They were 
never opened. They had a sanctimonious, conventual 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


SB 


look about their stern, cold folds, and they seemed to 
tell of a deep, unbroken silence, and a cloisteral still¬ 
ness lurking behind them. At distant intervals the win¬ 
dows were slightly opened, and allowed the high, shadowy 
ceilings to be seen between the snowy whiteness of the 
curtains. But it was all to no purpose that Mouret kept 
up his watch; he never could catch sight of the hand 
which opened or closed them, and he never even heard 
the grating of the fastening. Never a sound of human 
life came down from the second floor. 

At the end of the first week, Mouret had not had an¬ 
other glimspe of the Abb£ Faujas. In spite of all the 
efforts he made to appear quite indifferent, he relapsed 
into his old questionings and inquiries. 

“Have you seen anything of him?” he asked his wife. 

“I fancy I caught a glimpse of him yesterday, as he was 
coming in, but I am not sure. His mother always wears 
a black dress, and it might have been she that 1 saw.” 

And as he continued to press her with questions, she 
began to tell him all she knew. 

“Rose says that he goes out every day, and stays away 
a long time. As for his mother, she is as regular as a clock. 
She comes down at seven o’clock in the morning to go 
out and do her marketing. She has a big basket, which 
is always closed, in which she must bring everything 
back with her, coal, bread, wine and provisions, for no 
tradesman ever comes with anything for them. They 
are very courteous and polite; and Rose says that they 
always bow to her when they meet her. But generally, 
however, she does not even hear them come down the 
stairs.” 

“They must go in for a funny kind of cooking up there,” 
said Mouret, to whom all these details conveyed none 
of the information he wanted. 

Another evening, when Octave had mentioned that he 

3 


34 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


had seen the Abb£ Faujas entering Saint-Saturnin’s, his 
father asked him about the priest's appearance, and what 
effect he had upon the passers-by, and what he could be 
going to do in the church. 

“Ah! you are really much too curious!” cried the 
young man, with a laugh. “He didn’t look very strik¬ 
ing in the sunshine with his rusty cassock, I can vouch 
for that much. I noticed, too, that, as he walked along, 
he kept in the shadow of the houses, which made his 
cassock look a little blacker. There were two girls who 
began to laugh as he crossed the Place. The Abb6 raised 
his head and looked at them with an expression of great 
softness—didn’t he, Serge?” 

Then Serge related how he had several times, as he 
was returning from college, followed the Abb6 at a 
distance on his way back from Saint-Saturnin’s. He 
passed through the streets without speaking to anyone; 
and he seemed not to know a single soul, and appeared 
hurt by the suppressed titters and jeers which he heard 
around him. 

“Do they talk of him, then, in the town?" asked Mou- 
ret, whose interest was greatly aroused. 

“No one has ever spoken to me about him,” Octave 
replied. 

“Yes,” said Serge,” they do talk of him. The Abb6 
Bourrette’s nephew told me that he wasn’t a favorite at 
the church. They are not fond of these priests who 
come from a distance; and then he has such a miserable 
appearance.” 

Then Marthe advised the two young fellows not to sat¬ 
isfy any outside curiosity about the AbbA 

“Oh, yes! they may answer any questions,” Mouret ex¬ 
claimed. “Certainly nothing that we know of him could 
be likely to compromise him in - any way.” 

From this time forward, with the best faith in the 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


35 


world and without meaning the least harm, Mouret 
turned his sons into a couple of spies over the priest. 
But the information that was to be derived from gossip 
was a stream that was quickly dried up, and the town 
appeared to have extended its pardon to "the poor fel¬ 
low,” who glided about in the shadow in such a rusty 
old cassock, and its only feeling for him was now one 
of disdain. The priest, on the other hand, went 
straight to the cathedral and so returned from it, always 
passing through the same streets. Octave said, laugh¬ 
ingly, that he was sure he was counting the paving- 
stones. 

In the house, Mouret bethought himself of engaging 
the help of Ddsir^e, who never went out, in collecting 
information. In the evening he used to take her off to 
the bottom of the garden and listen to her chatter about 
what she had done and what she had seen during the 
day, and he tried to lead her on to the topic of the ten¬ 
ants of the second floor. 

"Now, just listen to what I tell you,” he said to her 
one day. "To-morrow, when the window is open, just 
throw your ball into the room, and then go up and ask 
for it.” 

The next day the girl threw her ball into the room, 
but she had scarcely reached the steps of the house be¬ 
fore the ball, returned by an invisible hand, bounced up 
from the terrace. Her father, who had reckoned on the 
child's taking ways bringing about a renewal of the in¬ 
tercourse which had been interrupted since the first day, 
now lost all hope. It was quite clear that the Abb6 
had completely made up his mind to keep himself to 
himself. This rebuff, however, only made Mouret’s curi¬ 
osity all the keener. He even condescended to go gossip¬ 
ing in corners with the cook, to the great displeasure of 
Marthe, who reproached him for his want of self respect; 


36 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


but he only got angry with her and defended himself by 
lies. However, as he felt he was in the wrong, it was 
only in secret that he henceforth talked to Rose about 
the Faujases. 

One morning she beckoned to him to follow her into 
the kitchen. 

“Oh, sir!” she said, as she shut the door, “I have 
been watching for your coming down from your room for 
more than an hour.” 

“Have you found something out?" 

“Well, you shall hear. Yesterday evening I was talk¬ 
ing to Madame Faujas for more than an hour!” 

A thrill of joy passed through Mouret. He sat down 
on an old tattered rush-bottom kitchen chair, in the midst 
of all the litter and disorder of the previous day. 

“Go long! make haste!” he said. 

“Well,” continued the cook, “I was at the street-door 
saying good-night to Monsieur Rastoil’s servant, when 
Madame Faujas came down-stairs to empty a pail of 
dirty water in the gutter. Instead of immediately going 
back again, without even turning her head round, as 
she generally does, she stopped there for a moment to 
look at me. Then it struck me that she wanted to speak 
to me, and I said to her that it had been a beautiful 
day and that it would be good for the grapes. She said, 
'Yes, yes/ in an unconcerned sort of way, but she put 
down her pail and made no attempt to go away; she 
even came and leaned her back against the wall by my 
side—” 

“Well! well! what did she say to you?” cried Mouret. 

“Well, of course, I wasn't silly enough to begin to 
question her. She would have gone straight off if I had. 
The Cur£ of Saint-Saturnin’s, that worthy Monsieur 
Compan, happened to be passing and I told her that he 
was very ill and that he wasn’t long for this world, and 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


37 


that there would be a very great difficulty in filling up 
his place at the cathedral. She was all ears at once, I 
can tell you. She even asked me what was the matter 
with Monsieur Compan. Then, I gradually got talking 
about our bishop. Monseigneur Rousselot was a most 
excellent and worthy man, I told her. She did not know 
his age, so I told her that he was sixty, very delicate 
also, and that he let himself be led by the nose. There 
is a good deal of talk about the vicar-general, Monsieur 
Fenil, who is all powerful with the bishop. The old 
lady was quite interested, and she would have stayed 
out there in the street all night.” 

An expression of utter disgust passed over Mouret’s 
face. “All this that you’re telling me is what you said 
yourself,” he cried. “What was it that she said? That’s 
what I want to hear.” 

“Wait a little and let me finish,” Rose replied very 
calmly. “1 was gradually gaining my purpose. To win 
her confidence/'t ended by talking to her about ourselves. 
I told her that you were Monsieur Francois Mouret, a 
retired merchant from Marseilles, who had managed in 
fifteen years, to make a fortune out of wines and oils and 
almonds. I added that you had preferred to come and 
settle down and live on your means in Plassans, a quiet 
town, where your wife’s relations lived. I even con¬ 
trived to let her know, too, that madame was your cousin, 
that you were forty years old and she was thirty-seven, 
and that you lived very happily together; in fact, I told 
her all about you. She seemed to be very much interested 
and kept saying, 'Yes, yes,’ in her deliberate way; and, 
when I stopped for a moment, she nodded her head as 
though to tell me she was listening and that I might go 
on. We went on talking in this way, with our backs 
against the wall, like a couple of old friends, till it was 
quite dark.” 


38 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

Mouret bounced up from his chair in angry indigna¬ 
tion. 

“What!" he cried, "is that all? She led you onto gos¬ 
sip to her for an hour, and she herself told you nothing!" 

“When it got dark, she said to me: ‘The air is be¬ 
coming quite chilly.’ And then she took up her pail 
and went back up-stairs." 

“You are nothing but an idiot! That old woman up 
there is more than a match for half a score such as you. 
Ah! they’ll be laughing finely now that they have wormed 
out of you all that they want to know about us! Do you 
hear me, Rose? I tell you that you are nothing but an 
idiot!" 

The old cook waxed very indignant, and she began to 
bounce excitedly up and down the kitchen, knocking the 
pots and pans about noisily, and crumpling up the dust¬ 
ers and then flinging them down. 

“It was scarcely worth your while, sir,” she hissed 
out, “to come into my kitchen to call me insulting names. 
You had better take yourself off. What I did, I did to 
please you. If madame finds us here together talking 
about these people, she will be angry with me, and quite 
rightly, because it is wrong for us to be doing so. I 
did as any one else would have done under the same cir¬ 
cumstances. I talked and told her about your affairs, 
and it was no fault of mine that she didn’t tell me about 
hers. Go and ask her about them yourself, since you 
are anxious to know about them. Perhaps you won’t 
make such an idiot of yourself as I have done." 

Sfhe had raised her voice, and was talking so loudly that 
Mouret thought it would be more prudent to retire, and 
he closed the kitchen-door after him to prevent his wife 
hearing her. But Rose pulled it open again directly he 
had passed out, and cried out after him in the passage: 

‘Til bother myself about it no longer; do you hear? 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 39 

You may get somebody else to do your underhand busi¬ 
ness for you!” 

Mouret was quite vanquished. He showed some irri¬ 
tation at his defeat, and tried to console himself by say¬ 
ing that these second-floor tenants of his were mere no¬ 
bodies. Gradually he succeeded in making this opinion 
of his own that of his acquaintances, and then that of 
the whole town. The Abb£ Faujas came to be looked 
upon as a priest without means and without ambition, 
and completely outside the pale of the intrigues of the 
diocese. People imagined that he was ashamed of his 
poverty, that he was glad to perform any unpleasant 
duties in connection with the cathedral, and that he 
tried to keep himself in the obscurity of the shade as 
much as possible. There was only one matter of curios¬ 
ity left in connection with him, and that was the reason 
of his having come to Plassans from Besancon. Queer 
stories were circulated about him, but they all seemed 
very improbable. Mouret himself, who had played the 
spy over his tenants simply for amusement and to pass 
the time, just as he would have played a game of cards 
or bowls, was beginning to forget that he had a priest 
living in his house, when an event happened which 
greatly excited him. 

One afternoon as he was returning home, he saw the 
Abbe Faujas in front of him, going up the Rue Balande. 
Mouret slackened his pace and examined him at his 
leisure. Although the priest had been lodging in his 
house for a month, this was t^ie first time that he had 
thus seen him in broad daylight. The Abb6 still wore 
his old cassock; he was walking slowly, with his hat in 
his hand and his head bare in spite of the chilly air. 
The street, which was a very steep one, with its big, 
bare houses always closed, was quite deserted. Mouret, 
who had begun to quicken his pace again, was obliged 


40 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSAN5 


to walk on the tips of his toes for fear the priest should 
hear him and make his escape. But as they neared 
Monsieur Rastoil’s house, a group of people turning out 
of the Place of the Sub-Prefecture entered it. The 
Abbe Faujas made a slight detour to avoid these per¬ 
sons. He watched the door close, and then suddenly 
stopping he turned round toward his landlord who was 
now close up to him. 

“I am very glad to have happened to meet you just 
now,” he said with his excessive politeness, “otherwise 
I should have ventured to disturb you this evening. The 
last time it rained the wet came through the ceiling to 
my room and I want you to come and look at it.” 

Mouret remained standing in front of him and stammered 
out in confusion that he was entirely at the Abba’s serv¬ 
ice. And then, as they went in together, he asked him 
at what time he should come and look at the ceiling. 

“I should like you to come at once,” the Abbd said, 
“if it wouldn’t be troubling you too much.” 

Mouret went up the stairs after him, almost choking 
with excitement, while Rose followed them with her 
eyes from the kitchen-door quite dazed with astonish¬ 
ment. 


IV 

When Mouret reached the second floor, he was more 
excited than a youth who is for the first time entering 
a Woman’s bedroom. The Abbd Faujas slipped the key, 
which he quite concealed in his big fingers, into the 
lock without the slightest sound, and the door opened 
as silently as if it were hung upon hinges of velvet. 
Then the Abb6, stepping back, mutely motioned to Mou¬ 
ret to enter. 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


41 


The cotton curtains in the two windows were so heavy 
that the room lay in a pale, chalky dimness like the 
half-light of a cell. It was a very large room, with a 
lofty ceiling, and a quiet and neat wall-paper of a faded 
yellow. Mouret ventured into the room, advancing with 
short steps over the floor, which was as smooth and 
shiny as a mirror, and the coldness of which he seemed 
to feel striking through the soles of his boots. He 
glanced furtively round him and examined the curtain¬ 
less iron bedstead, with its sheets so straightly stretched 
that it looked like a block of white stone lying in the 
corner. The chest of drawers, stowed away at the other 
end of the room, a little table in the middle and two 
chairs, one before each window, completed the furni¬ 
ture. There was not a single paper on the table, not an 
article of any kind on the chest of drawers, and not a 
garment hanging against the walls. Everything was 
perfectly bare. Over the ch^t of drawers there hung a 
great Christ carved in black wood, whose gloomy cross 
was all that broke the somber nakedness of the room. 

“Come this way, sir, will you?’’ said the Abb6. “It 
is in this corner that the ceiling is stained.” 

But Mouret did not hurry himself; he was quite happy 
where he was. Although he saw none of the extraordi¬ 
nary things he had vaguely expected to see, there seemed 
to him to be a peculiar exhalation and odor about the 
room. It smelt of a priest, he thought; of a man with 
different ways from other men; of one who blows 
out his candle when he is going to change his shirt, and 
who never leaves his drawers or his razors lying about. 
The room was just like its provoking occupant, silent, 
cold and inscrutable. He was extremely surprised not 
to find, as he had expected to do, any appearance of 
poverty. The great Christ seemed to fill it with His 
black arms. 


42 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


Mouret felt, however, that he must go and look at the 
corner which the Abb6 Faujas was inviting him to in¬ 
spect. 

“You see the stain, don*t you?” the priest asked. “It 
has faded a little since yesterday. ” 

Mouret craned himself up on the tips of his toes and 
strained his eyes, but he could see nothing; though, 
when the Abb 6 had drawn back the curtains, he was 
able to distinguish a slight damp-stain. 

“It’s nothing very serious,” he said. 

“Oh no! but I thought it was better to tell you of it. 
The wet must have soaked in near the edge of the roof. ” 

Mouret made no further remark ; he was examining the 
room, which was now lying clear and distinct in the full 
day-light. There was not even a grain of dust lying 
about to tell aught of the Abba’s life. 

“Perhaps," continued the priest, “we may be able to 
discover the place from th$ window.” 

He proceeded to open the window, but Mouret said 
that the workmen would easily be able to find the leak. 

“I know that landlords like to know how matters are 
going on,” said the Abb6. “Inspect everything, I beg 
of you. The house is yours.” 

As he uttered this last sentence he smiled, a thing he 
did but rarely; and then as Mouret and himself leaned 
over the bar that crossed the window and turned their 
eyes toward the spout, he launched out into a flow of 
technical details, and tried to account for the appear¬ 
ance of the stain. 

“I think there has been a slight depression of the tiles, 
perhaps even a breakage; unless, indeed, that crack 
which you can see up there in the cornice extends into 
the retaining-wall. ” 

"Yes, yes, that is very possible,” Mouret replied; 
“but I must confess, your reverence, that I really don’t 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


43 


understand anything about these matters. However, 
the bricklayer will see to it." 

The priest said nothing further on the subject, but 
remained where he was quietly gazing out upon the gar¬ 
den beneath him. Mouret was quite won over when his 
tenant, after an interval of silence, said to him in his 
soft voice: 

"You have a very pretty garden, sir." 

"Oh! it’s nothing out of the common," he replied. 
"There used to be some fine trees which I was obliged 
to have cut down, for nothing would grow in their 
shade. This plot is quite large enough for us and keeps 
us in vegetables all through the season." 

The Abb6 seemed surprised, and asked Mouret for de¬ 
tailed explanations. The garden was an old-fashioned 
country garden, surrounded with arbors, and divided 
into four regular square compartments by tall borders of 
box. In the middle there was a shallow basin, but there 
was no fountain. Only a single one of theftsquares was 
devoted to flowers. In the other three, which were plant¬ 
ed at the corners with fruit-trees, there was a crop of 
magnificent cabbages and other vegetables. The paths of 
yellow gravel were kept in a state of the most precise 
neatness. Mouret complained of the difference of level 
which allowed the rain-water from the Sub Prefecture 
garden to run over his own patches of cultivated ground. 

The priest seemed to be listening out of mere com¬ 
plaisance, just nodding his head occasionally but mak¬ 
ing no remarks. He followed with his eyes the indicat¬ 
ing motions of his landlord’s hands. 

"There is still another inconvenience," continued the 
latter. "You see that narrow road between the two 
walls? It is called the Impasse des Chevilottes. It is 
a blind-alley leading to a cart-entrance to the grounds 
of the Sub-Prefecture. All the neighboring properties 


44 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


have little doors giving access to the alley, and there are 
endless mysterious comings and goings. I, who am a 
family man with children, have had my door fastened 
up with a couple of stout nails.” 

He looked at the Abbd and winked his eyes, but the 
Abbd just glanced at the alley without showing any 
curiosity on the subject. Then he continued again to 
gaze placidly down upon the Mounts’ garden. Marthe 
was in her customary place near the edge of the terrace, 
hemming napkins. She had raised her head sharply on 
first hearing voices, and then resumed her work again, 
full of surprise at seeing her husband at one of the sec¬ 
ond-floor windows in the company of the priest. She 
appeared now to be quite unconscious of their presence. 

They were both silent again, and the Abbd Faujas still 
seemed disinclined to leave the window. He now ap¬ 
peared to be examining their neighbor’s flower-beds. 
Monsieur Rastoil’s garden was arranged after the Eng¬ 
lish fashion>tfwith little walks and grass-plots broken by 
small flower-beds. At the bottom there was a round 
cluster of trees, underneath which were set a table and 
some rustic chairs. 

"Monsieur Rastoil is very rich,” resumed Mouret, who 
had followed the direction of the Abbd’s eyes. "His 
garden costs him a large sum of money. There isn’t a 
vegetable about the place; nothing but flowers. At one 
time the ladies even talked about cutting down the fruit 
trees; but that would really have been wicked, for the 
pears are magnificent specimens. Well, I suppose a 
man has a right to lay out his garden to please his own 
fancy, if he can afford to do it.” 

Then, as the Abb6 still continued silent, he contin¬ 
ued: 

"You know Monsieur Rastoil, don’t you? Every morn¬ 
ing he walks about under his trees from eight o’clock 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


45 


till nine. He is a heavy man, rather short, bald and 
clean shaven, and his head is as round as a ball. He 
reached his sixtieth birthday at the beginning of last 
August, I believe. He has been president of our civil 
tribunal for nearly twenty years. They say he is a very 
good fellow, but I see very little of him. ‘Good morn¬ 
ing/ and ‘Good evening/ and that’s about all that ever 
passes between us.” 

He stopped speaking as he saw several people coming 
down the steps of the neighboring house and making 
their way to the arbor of trees. 

"Ah yes!” he resumed, lowering his voice, ‘‘to-day’s 
Tuesday. There is a dinner party at the Rastoils’. 

The Abbd had not been able to refrain from moving 
slightly, and had stooped a little to see better. A couple 
of priests who were walking by the side of two tall girls 
seemed to specially interest him. 

"Do you know who those gentlemen are?” Mouret 
asked him. 

And, when the priest only replied by a vague gesture, 
he added: 

"They were crossing the Rue Balande just as we met 
each other. The tall and younger one—the one who is 
walking between Monsieur Rastoil’s two daughters—is 
the Abbd Surin, our bishop’s secretary. He is said to 
be a very amiable young man. The old one, who is 
walking a little behind, is one of our chief clergy, the 
Abbd Fenil. He is the head of the Seminary. He is 
a terrible man, flat and sharp as a saber. I wish he 
would turn round so that you might see his eyes. I am 
quite surprised that you don’t know those gentlemen." 

"I go out very little,” said the Abbe, "and there is no 
house in the town that I visit.” 

"Ah! that isn’t wise of you. You must often feel very 
dull. To do you justice, your reverence, you certainly 


46 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


are not of a curious disposition. Just fancy! you’ve 
been here a month and you didn’t even know that Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil had a dinner party every Tuesday. Why, 
it’s right before your eyes there from this window!” 

Mouret laughed slightly. He was feeling a rather con¬ 
temptuous opinion of the Abb£. Then in confidential 
tones he added: 

‘You see that tall old man who is with Madame Ras 
toil—the thin one I mean, with broad brims to his hat? 
Well, that is Monsieur de Bourdeu, the former prefect 
of the Drome, a prefect who was turned out of office by 
the revolution of 1848. He’s another one that you 
don’t know, I'll be bound. And Monsieur Maffre there, 
the magistrate, that white-headed old gentleman who 
is coming on the last with Monsieur Rastoil, don’t you 
know him? Well, that is really inexcusable. He is an 
honorary vestry-man of Saint-Saturnin’s. Between our¬ 
selves, he is accused of having killed his wife with his 
harshness and miserliness.” 

He stopped short and looked the Abb6 in the face and 
said to him suddenly with a smile 

"I beg your reverence’s pardon, but I am not a very 
devout person.” 

The Abb6 again made a vague movement of his hand, 
a movement which did duty as an answer: 

“No, I am not a very devout person, ” Mouret repeated 
smilingly. “Every one must be left free, mustn’t he? 
The Rastoils, now, are a religious family. You must 
have seen the mother and daughters at Saint Saturnin’s. 
They are parishioners of yours. Ah! those poor girls! 
The elder, Angeline, is fully twenty-six years old, and 
the other one, Aur£lie, is going on twenty-four. And 
they’re no beauties either—quite yellow and shrewish look¬ 
ing. They wouldn’t let the younger one marry till her 
elder sister has got off, but I dare say they’ll end by 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


47 


finding husbands somewhere for the sake of their dowry. 
Their mother there, that fat little woman who looks as 
innocent and mild as a sheep, has given poor Rastoil 
some pretty experiences.” 

He winked his left eye, a common habit of his when 
he indulged in any slightly broad pleasantry. The Abb 6 
lowered his eyes, expecting Mouret to explain himself, 
but, as he remained silent, he raised them again and 
watched the company in the garden seat themselves 
round the table under the trees. 

Mouret resumed his explanatory remarks. 

“They will stay out there, enjoying the fresh air, till 
dinner time. It is just the same every Tuesday. That 
Abb6 Surin is a great favorite. Look how he is laugh¬ 
ing there with Mademoiselle Aur^lie. Ah! the Abb£ 
Fenil has observed us. What eyes he has got! He 
isn’t very fond of me, as I’ve had a dispute with a re¬ 
lation of his. But where has the Abb£ Bourrette got 
to? We haven’t seen anything of him, have we? It is 
very extraordinary. He never misses Monsieur Rastoil’s 
Tuesdays. He must be ill. You know him, don’t you? 
What a worthy man he is! A most devoted servant of 
God!” 

The Abb£ Faujas was not listening to him any longer. 
His eyes were constantly meeting those of the Abb6 
Fenil. He bore the priest’s scrutiny with perfect un¬ 
concern and never diverted his glance. He had leant 
himself more fully against the iron bar, and his eyes 
seemed to have grown bigger. 

“Ah! here come the young people! ” Mouret resumed, 
as three young men arrived on the scene. "The oldest 
one is Rastoil’s son; he has just been called to the bar. 
The two others are the magistrate’s sons; they are still 
at college. By the bye, I wonder why those two young 
scamps of mine haven’t come back yet." 


48 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


At that very moment Octave and Serge made their ap¬ 
pearance on the terrace. They leant their backs against 
the balustrade and began to tease D£sir6e, who had 
just sat down by her mother’s side. As the young folks 
caught sight of their father at the second-floor window, 
they lowered their voices and smothered their laughter. 

“There, you see all my little family!’ 1 said Mouret 
complaisantly. “We stay at home, we do; and we have 
no visitors. Our garden is a closed paradise, where the 
devil can’t enter to tempt us.” 

He smiled as he spoke, for he was really amusing 
himself at the Abba’s expense. The latter had slowly 
brought his eyes to bear upon the group under the win¬ 
dow, his landlord’s family. He gazed at them for a mo¬ 
ment and then looked round upon the old-fashioned gar¬ 
den with its beds of vegetables surrounded with borders 
of box; and then he again turned his eyes to Monsieur 
Rastoil’s pretentious grounds, and last of all, as though 
he wanted to get the plan of the whole neighborhood 
into his head, he turned his attention to the garden of 
the Sub-Prefecture, and at last he said: 

“These gardens are quite lively. There are guests, 
too, in the one on the left.” 

Mouret raised his eyes. 

“Oh, yes!” he said, unconcernedly, “it’s like that 
every afternoon. They are the friends of Monsieur 
Pequeur des Saulaies, our sub-prefect. In the summer 
time they meet in the same way in the evenings round 
the basin on the left, which you can’t see from here. Ah! 
Monsieur de Condamin has got back! That fine old man 
there, who is so well preserved and has such a bright 
color; he is our conservator of rivers and forests; a 
jovial old fellow, who is constantly to be seen gloved 
and tightly breeched, on horseback. Arid the tales he 
can tell, too! He doesn’t belong to this neighborhood, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/tNS 


49 


and he has lately married a very young woman. How¬ 
ever, that’s fortunately no business of mine!” 

He bent down his head again as he heard D£sir£e, 
who was playing with Serge, break out into one of her 
childish laughs. But the Abbd, whose face was colored 
with a slight flush recalled his attention, as he asked: 

“Is that the sub-prefect, that fat gentleman with the 
white tie?” 

This question seemed to amuse Mouret exceedingly. 

“Oh, no!” he replied with a laugh. “It is very evident 
that you don’t know Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies. 
He isn’t forty and he’s a tall, handsome, and very dis¬ 
tinguished-looking young man. That fat gentleman is 
Doctor Porquier, the fashionable medical man of Plassans. 
He is a very well-to-do man, I can assure you, and he 
has only one trouble, his son Guillaume. Do you see 
those two people who are sitting on the bench with 
their backs turned toward us? They are Monsieur 
Paloque, the judge, ahd his wife. They are the ugliest 
couple in the neighborhood. It is difficult to say which is 
the worse looking, the husband or the wife. Fortunately 
they have no children.” 

Mouret began to laugh loudly; he was growing warm 
and excited, and he kept striking the window bar with 
his hand; he drew closer to the Abb£ like some old gos¬ 
sip who is just going to launch out into a long story. 

“Plassans is a very curious place from a political 
point of view. The Coup d’Etat succeeded here because 
the town is conservative. But first of all it is Legiti¬ 
mist and Orleanist; so much so indeed, that at the com¬ 
mencement of the Empire, it made special claims for it¬ 
self. As these were disregarded, the town grew annoyed 
and went over to the opposition; yes, your reverence, to 
the opposition. Last year we elected for our deputy 
the Marquis de Lagrifoul, an old nobleman of mediocre 

4 


50 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


abilities, but one whose election was a very bitter pill to 
the Sub-Prefecture.—Ah, look! your reverence; there is 
Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies! He is with the mayor, 
Monsieur Delangre.” 

The Abb 6 looked keenly in the direction indicated by 
Mouret. The sub-prefect a very dark man, was smiling 
beneath his waxed mustaches. He was irreproachably 
dressed, and his whole appearance bespoke the fashion¬ 
able officer and urbane administrator. The mayor was at 
his side, talking and gesticulating very rapidly. Pie was a 
short man,with square shoulders, and a sunken face that 
was rather PunchTike in appearance. “Monsieur Pequeur 
des Saulaies,” continued Mouret, “felt so confident of the 
return of the official candidate that the result of the 
election nearly made him ill. It was very amusing. On the 
evening of the election, the garden of the Sub-Prefect¬ 
ure was as dark and gloomy as a cemetery, while in the 
Rastoils’ grounds there were lamps and candles burning 
under the trees, and joyous laughter and a perfect up¬ 
roar of triumph. There was nothing that could be seen 
from the street, but they threw off all restraint in the gar¬ 
den, and gave full vent to their feelings. Oh, yes! I see 
singular things sometimes, though I don’t say anything 
about them.” 

He checked himself for a moment, as though he was 
unwilling to say anything more, but his itching to gossip 
was too strong for him. 

“I wonder what course they will take now at the Sub- 
Prefecture?” he continued. "They will never again get 
their candidate elected. They don’t understand the 
people about here, and they are very weak. I was told 
that Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies was to have had a 
prefecture if the election had gone off all right. Ah! he 
will remain a sub-prefect for a long time yet, I imagine! 
What stratagem will they have recourse to, I wonder, 


. ip- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 51 

to overthrow the marquis? They will certainly have 
recourse to one of some kind or other, and do their best 
somehow to effect the conquest of Plassans.” 

He turned his eyes upon the Abbe, from whom he 
had been looking away for the last moment or two, and 
he checked himself suddenly as he caught sight of the 
priest’s eagerly attentive face and glistening eyes, and 
ears that seemed to have grown bigger. 

“But, after all, I really know nothing about it. 
People tell so many ridiculous stories. All I care about 
is to be allowed to live quietly in my own house.” 

The Abbd continued to glance alternately at the two 
gardens on his right and left, in his calm, unconcerned 
manner, and he did not make the least attempt to in¬ 
duce Mouret to go on talking. The latter was beginning 
to wish, with a feeling of impatience, that his wife or 
one of his children would call to him to come into the 
garden, and he was greatly relieved when he saw Rose 
appear on the steps outside the house. She raised her 
head toward him. 

“Well, sir!” she cried; “aren’t you coming at all to¬ 
day? The soup has been on the table for the last quarter 
of an hour! ” 

"All right, Rose! Pll be down directly,” he replied. 

Then he made his apologies to the Abb£, and left the 
window. The chilly look of the room, which he had 
forgotten while his back had been turned to it, added 
to the confusion he was feeling. It seemed to him like 
a huge confessional-box with its awful black Christ 
which must have heard everything he had said. When 
the Abb6 took leave of him with a silent bow, he stepped 
back again, and raising his eyes to the ceiling,, he said: 

"It is in that corner, then?” 

"What is?” asked the Abbe in surprise. 

"The stain that you spoke to me about.” 



52 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


The priest could not suppress a smile, and he again 
went and pointed out the stain to Mouret. 

“Ah! I can see it quite plainly now,” the latter said. 
"Well, I’ll send the workmen up to-morrow.” 

Then at last he left the room, and before he had 
reached the end of the landing, the door was noiselessly 
closed after him. And as he went down the steps he 
muttered: 

"The confounded fellow! He gets everything out of 
one without asking a single question!" 


V 

The next morning old Madame Rougon, Marthe’s 
mother, came to pay a visit to the Mourets. It was a 
very unusual occurrence, as there was a coolness between 
Mouret and his wife’s relations, which had increased since 
the election of the Marquis de Lagrifoul, whose success 
the latter attributed to Mouret’s influence in the rural 
districts. Marthe used to go alone when she went to see 
her relations. Her mother, "that Black Felicity,” as she 
was called, had retained at sixty-six years of age all the 
slimness and vivacity of a young girl. She always wore 
silk dresses, crowded with flounces, and was especially 
partial to yellows and drabs. 

When she entered the dining-room there was no one 
there but Marthe and Mouret. 

"Hallo!” cried the latter in great surprise, as he saw 
her coming, "here’s your mother! I wonder what she’s 
come for? She was here less than a month ago. She’s 
scheming after something or other, I know.” 

The Rougons, whose assistant Mouret had been be¬ 
fore his marriage, when their shabby little shop in the old 
quarter of the town seemed to speak of nothing but 



THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


53 


bankruptcy, were the objects of his continual suspicion. 
They returned the feeling by a bitter and deep-seated 
animosity, their rancor being especially aroused by the 
speedy success which had attended him in business. 
When their son-in-law said, “I owe my fortune to 
nothing but my own exertions and hard work,” they bit 
their lips and understood quite well that he was accusing 
them of having gained theirs by less honorable means. 
Notwithstanding the fine house she had on the place of 
the Sub-Prefecture, Felicity silently envied the peace¬ 
ful little home of the Mourets, with all the bitter jealousy 
of a retired shop-keeper who owed her fortune to some¬ 
thing else than the profits of her business. 

Felicity kissed Marthe on the forehead and then gave 
her hand to Mouret. She and her son-in-law generally 
affected a bantering tone, half-joking and half-serious 
in their conversations together. 

‘'Well," she said to him with a ? smile, "the gendarmes 
haven’t been for you yet then, you revolutionist?” 

“No, not yet,” he replied with a responsive smile; “they 
are waiting till your husband gives the order.’ 

“It’s very nice and polite of you to say that!” exclaimed 
Felicity, whose eyes were beginning to glisten. 

Marthe turned a beseeching glance upon Mouret. He 
had gone too far; but his feelings were roused and he 
added: 

“Good gracious! What are we thinking of to be re¬ 
ceiving you in the dining-room? Let us. go into the 
drawing-room, I beg of you.” 

This was one of his usual pleasantries. He affected 
all Felicity’s fine airs when he received a visit from her. 

It was to no purpose that Marthe protested that they 
were very comfortable where they were; her husband 
insisted upon her and her mother following him into the 
drawing-room. When they got there, he bustled about, 


54 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


opening the shutter and drawing out the chairs. The 
drawing-room, which was seldom entered, and the shut¬ 
ters of which were generally kept closed, was a great 
wilderness of a room, with its furniture swathed in white 
dust-covers which were turning yellow from the dampness 
of the garden. “It is really disgraceful!” muttered Mouret 
wiping the dust from a small console-table; “that wretch¬ 
ed Rose neglects everything abominably.” 

Then, turning toward his mother-in-law, he said 
with ill-concealed irony: 

“You will excuse us for receiving you in this way in 
our poor dwelling. We cannot all be wealthy.” 

Felicitd was choking with rage. She looked keenly 
at Mouret for a moment and was on the point of breaking 
out in a burst of anger; but she made an effort to re¬ 
strain herself and slowly dropped her eyes; and when- 
she again raised them she began to speak in soft and 
pleasant tones. 

“I have just been calling upon Madame de Condamin,” 
she said, “and I thought I would look in here and see 
how you all were. The children are well, I hope, and 
you, too, my dear Mouret?" 

“Yes, we are all wonderfully well,” he replied, quite 
astonished at all this amiability. 

The old lady gave him no time to import any fresh 
source of unpleasantness into the conversation, for she 
immediately began to question Marthe affectionately 
about all sorts of trifles, and played the part of a fond 
grandmother, scolding Mouret for not sending the dear 
children to see her oftener, for she was always so de¬ 
lighted to have them with her, she said. 

“Well, here we are in October again,” she remarked 
carelessly, after a while, “and I am going to begin hav¬ 
ing my day again, Thursdays, as in former seasons. I 
shall count upon seeing you, my dear Marthe, of course; 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


55 


and you too, Mouret, you will look in occasionally, 
won’t you, and not go on sulking with us forever?” 

Mouret, who was beginning to grow a little suspicious 
of all his mother-in-law’s affectionate chatter, was at 
a loss what to reply. This invitation came quite unex¬ 
pectedly, and there was nothing in it to which he could 
take exception, so he merely said: 

“You know quite well that I can’t come to your house; 
you receive a lot of people who would be delighted to 
seize upon an opportunity of making themselves disa¬ 
greeable to me. And, besides, I don’t want to mix 
myself up with politics.” 

“You are quite mistaken, Mouret, quite mistaken!" 
Felicity replied. “My drawing-room is not a club; I 
would never allow it to become one. Ah! believe me, 
I had quite enough of politics long ago. What makes 
you say such a thing?” 

“You receive all the Sub-Prefecture set,” Mouret said, 
shortly. 

“The Sub-Prefecture set!” she repeated, “the Sub- 
Prefecture set! Certainly I receive those gentlemen. 
But I don’t think that Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies 
will be found very often in my house this winter. My 
husband has told him pretty plainly what he thought of 
his conduct in connection with the last elections. He 
has allowed himself to be tricked like a mere nincompoop. 
But his friends are very pleasant men. Monsieur Delan- 
gre and Monsieur de Condamin are extremely amiable 
persons, and that worthy Paloque is kindness itself, and 
Pm sure you can have nothing to say against Doctor 
Porquier.” 

Mouret shrugged his shoulders. 

“Besides,” she continued, with ironic emphasis, “I 
receive also Monsieur Rastoil’s circle, the worthy Mon¬ 
sieur Maffre and our clever friend Monsieur de Bourdeu, 


56 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


the former prefect. So you see we are not at all big¬ 
oted or exclusive! Of course when I am inviting a party 
of people, I don’t ask those to meet each other who 
would be likely to quarrel. Besides wit and cleverness 
are welcome in whomsoever they are found, and we pride 
ourselves upon having at our gatherings all the most 
distinguished persons in Plassans. My drawing-room 
is neutral ground, remember that, Mouret; yes, neutral 
ground, that is the right expression.” 

She had grown quite animated by talking. Her draw¬ 
ing-room was her great glory, and it was her desire to 
reign there, not as a chief of a party, but as a queen of 
society. It is true that her friends said that she was 
adopting conciliatory tactics merely in conformity with 
the advice of her son Eugene, the minister, who had 
charged her to personify at Plassans the gentleness and 
amiability of the Empire. 

“You may say what you like,” Mouret growled, “but 
that Maffre of yours is a bigot, and your Bourdeu is a 
fool, and most of all the others are a set of rascals. 
That’s my opinion about them. I am much obliged to 
you for your invitation, but it would disturb my habits 
too much to accept it. I like to go to bed in good time, 
and I prefer stopping at home.” 

Felicitd rose from her seat, and turning her back up¬ 
on Mouret, she said to her daughter: 

“Well, at any rate I may expect you, mayn’t I, my 
dear? 

“Of course you may,” replied Marthe, who wished to 
soften down her husband’s blunt refusal. 

The old lady was just going to leave, when a thought 
seemed to strike her, and she asked if she might kiss 
Ddsirde, whom she had seen playing in the garden.. She 
would not let them call the girl into the house, but in¬ 
sisted on going out herself onto the terrace. When she 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


•57 


found D6sir£e, she was profuse in her fondling caresses 
of the girl, who seemed rather frightened of her. Then 
she raised her head as if by chance and looked at the 
curtains in the windows of the second-floor. 

“Ah! you have let the rooms then? Oh, yes! I re¬ 
member now; to a priest, isnt’ it? I’ve heard it spoken 
of. What sort of a person is he, this priest of yours?” 

Mouret looked at her keenly. A sudden suspicion 
flashed through his mind, and he began to guess that it 
was entirely on account of the Abb6 Faujas that his 
mother-in-law had favored them with this visit. 

“Upon my word,” he replied, without taking his eyes 
off her, “I really know nothing about him. But perhaps 
you are able to give me some information concerning 
him? ” 

“I!” she cried, with an appearance of great surprise. 
“Why, Pve never even seen him! Stay, though I know 
he is one of the curates at Saint-Saturnin; Father Bour- 
rette told me that. By the way, that reminds me that 
I ought to ask him to my Thursdays. The director of 
the Seminary and the bishop’s secretary are already 
amongst my circle of visitors.” 

Then, turning to Marthe, she added: 

“When you see your lodger you might sound him, so 
as to be able to tell me whether an invitation from me 
would be acceptable.” 

“We scarcely ever see him,” Mouret hastily interposed. 
"He comes in and goes out without ever opening his 
mouth. And, besides, it is really no business of ours.” 

He still kept his eyes fixed suspiciously upon her, but 
she did not quail beneath her son-in-law’s searching 
gaze. 

“Very well, it’s all the same to me,” she said, with 
an appearance of the most perfect unconcern. “I shall 
be able to find out some other way of inviting him, if 







58 THE CONQUEST OF PLJSS4NS 

he’s the right sort of person, I’ve no doubt. Good-bye, 
my children.” 

As she was mounting the steps again, a tall old man 
appeared at the entrance of the house. He wore a great 
coat and a pair of very neat blue cloth trousers, and a 
fur cap pressed down over his eyes. In his hand he 
carried a whip. 

"Hallo! there’s uncle Macquart!” cried Mouret, cast¬ 
ing a curious glance at his mother-in-law. 

An expression of extreme annoyance passed over Fe¬ 
licity’s face. Macquart, Rougon’s illegitimate brother, 
had, by the latter’s aid, returned to France after having 
compromised himself in the rising of 1851. Since his 
return from Piedmont he had been leading the life of a 
sleek and well-to-do citizen. He had bought, though 
where the money had come from no one knew, a small 
house in the village of Les Tulettes, about three leagues 
from Plassans. He had fitted up his establishment by 
degrees, and he had now even become possessed of a 
gig and a horse, and was constantly to be met on the 
high-roads, smoking his pipe and enjoying the sunshine, 
and sniggering like a tamed wolf. Rougon’s enemies 
whispered that the two brothers had been guilty of 
some black business, and that Pierre Rougon was keep¬ 
ing Antoine Macquart. 

"Good day, uncle!” said Mouret affectedly; "have you 
come to pay us a little visit?” 

"Yes, indeed," Macquart replied, in tones as guileless 
as a child’s. "You know that whenever I come to 
Plassans—Hallo, Felicity! I didn’t expect to find you 
here! I came over to see Rougon. There was some¬ 
thing I wanted to talk to him about.” 

"He was at home, wasn’t he?” she exclaimed, with 
uneasy haste. 

"Yes, he was at home,” uncle Macquart replied, tran- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


59 


quilly. "I saw him, and we had a talk together. He 
is a good fellow, is Rougon. ” 

He laughed slightly, and while Felicitd continued 
quite restless and fidgety from anxiety, he went on talk¬ 
ing in his drawling voice that was so strangely inflected 
as to make him seem constantly laughing at those whom 
he was addressing. 

“Mouret, my boy, I have brought you a couple of 
rabbits. They are in a basket over there. I have given 
them to Rose. I brought another couple with me for 
Rougon. You will find them at home, Felicity, and you 
must tell me how they turn out. They are beautifully 
plump; I fattened them up for you. Ah, my dears! it 
pleases me very much to be able to make these little 
presents.” 

Felicitd had turned quite pale, and pressed her lips 
tightly together as Mouret continued to look at her with 
a quiet smile. She would have been very glad to get 
away if she had not been afraid of Macquart beginning 
to gossip as soon as her back was turned. 

“Thank you, uncle,” said Mouret. “The plums that 
you brought us the last time you came were very good. 
Won’t you have something to drink?” 

“Well, that’s an offer I really can’t refuse.” 

When Rose brought him out a glass of wine, he sat 
down on the balustrade and slowly sipped at the glass, 
smacking his tongue and holding up the wine to the 
light. 

Then Mouret, with an intonation that was full of mean¬ 
ing, suddenly asked him: 

“And how are they getting on at Les Tulettes?” 

Macquart raised his eyes and looked at them all. 
Then giving a final clack of his tongue he said, quite 
unconcernedly: 


60 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“Oh! very well. I heard of her the day before yes¬ 
terday. She is still just about the same.” 

Felicitd had turned away her head and no one spoke. 
Mouret had just put his finger upon one of the family's 
sore places by alluding to the mother of Rougon and 
Macquart, who had been shut up as a mad woman for 
several years past in the asylum at Les Tulettes. Mac- 
quart's little property was near the mad-house, and it 
looked as though Rougon had posted the old scamp there 
to keep watch over their mother. 

“It is getting late," Macquart said at last, rising from 
his seat on the balustrade, “and I want to get back 
again before night. I shall expect to see you over at 
my house one of these days, Mouret, my boy. You have 
promised me several times to come, you know.” 

“Oh, yes! I'll come, uncle, I’ll come.” 

“Ah! but that isn’t enough. I want you all to come; 
all of you do you hear? I am very dull out there all 
by myself. I will give you some dinner.” 

Then, turning to Felicitd, he added: 

“Tell Rougon that I shall expect him and you, too. 
You needn't be prevented from coming because the old 
mother happens to be near there. She is going on very 
well, I tell you, and is properly looked after. You may 
safely trust yourselves to me, and I will give you some 
wine that I picked up in La Seille, alight wine that will 
warm you up famously." 

He began to walk toward the gate as he spoke. 
Felicity followed him so closely that she almost seemed 
to be pushing him out of the garden. They all accom¬ 
panied him to the street. As he was untethering his 
horse, which he had fastened by the reins to one of the 
shutters, the Abb£ Faujas, who was just returning home, 
passed the group with a slight bow. He glided on as 
noiselessly as a black shadow. Felicitd turned round 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


61 


sharply and followed him with her eyes till he reached 
the staircase, but she had not time to catch sight of his 
face. Macquart shook his head in utter surprise as he 
said: 

"What! my boy, have you really got priests lodging 
with you now? That man has got a very strange eye. 
Take care! take care! cassocks bring ill luck with 
them!" 

He took his seat in his gig and clucked his horse on 
and went down the Rue Balande at a gentle trot. His 
round back and fur cap disappeared past the corner of 
the Rue Taravelle. As Mouret turned round again, he 
heard his mother-in-law speaking to Marthe. 

"I would rather you did it,” she was saying; "the in¬ 
vitation would seem less formal. I should be very glad 
if you could find some opportunity of speaking to him.” 

She checked herself when she saw that she was over¬ 
heard. Then, after having kissed D£sir£e effusively, she 
went away giving a last look to be quite sure that Mac- 
quart was not returning to gossip about her after her 
departure. 

"I forbid you, you know, to mix yourself up in any 
way in your mother’s affairs,” Mouret said to his wife 
as they returned into the house. "She has always got 
some business or other on hand that no one can under¬ 
stand. What in the world can she want with the Abb6? 
She wouldn’t invite him for his own sake, I’m sure; and 
she must have got some secret reason for doing so. That 
priest hasn’t come from Besancon to Plassans for noth¬ 
ing. There is some mystery or other, at the bottom of 
it.” 

Marthe had set to work again at the everlasting repairs 
of the family-linen which kept her busy for days to¬ 
gether. Her husband went on speaking again. 

"That old Macquart and your mother amuse me very 


62 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


much. How they hate each other! Did you notice how 
angry she was when she saw him come? She seems as 
though she was in a perpetual state of fear lest he should 
make some unpleasant revelation— But they’ 11 never 
catch me in his house. I’ve sworn to keep myself clear 
of all this business. My father was quite right when 
he said that my mother’s family, these Rougons and 
Macquarts, were not worth a rope to hang them with. 
They are my relations as well as yours, so you needn’t 
feel hurt at what I am saying. I say it because it is 
true. They are wealthy people now, but their money 
hasn’t made them any better, but rather the contrary.” 

Then he set off to take a turn in the Cours Sauvaire, 
where he met his friends and talked to them about the 
weather and the crops and the events of the previous 
day. An extensive transaction in almonds, which he 
undertook the following day, kept him constantly occu¬ 
pied for more than a week and made him almost forget 
all about the Abb6 Faujas. He was beginning, besides, 
to get a little weary of the Abb£, who did not talk enough 
and was too secretive. On two separate occasions he 
purposely avoided him, imagining that the priest only 
wanted to see him that he might get out of him the his¬ 
tories of the remainder of the Sub-Prefecture circle and 
Monsieur Rastoil’s friends. Rose had informed him that 
Madame Faujas had been trying to get her to talk, and 
this had induced him to vow that he would keep his lips 
closed for the future. This formed another amusement 
for his unoccupied hours, and now as he looked up at the 
closely drawn curtains of the second-floor windows, he 
muttered: 

"All right my good fellow! Hide yourself as much as 
you like! I know very well that you’re watching me 
from behind those curtains, but you won’t be much the 
wiser for your trouble, and you’ll find yourself much mis- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


63 


taken if you expect to get any more information out of 
me about our neighbors!” 

He derived great pleasure from the thought that the 
Abb£ Faujas was watching him, and he took every pre¬ 
caution to avoid falling into any trap that might belaid 
for him. One evening as he was coming home he saw 
the Abbd Bourrette and the Abb£ Faujas standing before 
Monsieur Rastoil’s gate. He concealed himself behind 
the corner of a house and watched them. The two 
priests kept him waiting there for more than a quarter 
of an hour. They talked with great animation, parted 
for a moment and then rejoined each other again, and 
resumed their conversation. Mouret thought that he 
could detect that the Abbd Bourrette was trying to per¬ 
suade the Aobd Faujas to accompany him to the presi¬ 
dent’s. The latter was making excuses for not going and 
ended by refusing with some show of impatience. It was 
a Tuesday, the day of the weekly dinner. At last Bour¬ 
rette entered Monsieur Rastoil’s house, and Faujas went 
off in his quiet undemonstrative fashion to his own rooms. 
Mouret stood for a while thinking. What could be the 
Abbd Faujas* reason for refusing to go to Monsieur 
Rastoil’s. All the clergy of Saint-Saturnin’s dined 
there, the Abbd Fenil, the Abbd Surin and all the others. 
There was not a single priest in Plassans who had not 
enjoyed the fresh air by the fountain in the garden there. 
This new curate’s refusal to go seemed a very extraordi¬ 
nary thing. 

When Mouret got home again, he hurried off to the 
bottom of the garden to reconnoiter the second-floor win¬ 
dows. At the end of a moment or two he saw the cur¬ 
tain of the second window move to the right. He felt 
quite sure that the Abbd Faujas was behind it spying 
out what was going on at Monsieur Rastoil’s. Then 
Mouret thought that he could discover by certain move- 


64 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


merits of the curtain that the Abbd was in turn inspect¬ 
ing the gardens of the Sub-Prefecture. 

The next day, a Wednesday, Rose told him as he was 
going out that the Abbd Bourrette had been with the 
second-floor people for at least an hour. Upon this he 
went back into the house and began to rummage about in 
the dining-room. When Marthe asked him what he was 
looking for, he replied sharply that he was trying to find 
a paper without which he could not go out. Then he 
went upstairs to see if he had left it there. After wait¬ 
ing for a long time behind his bedroom door, he thought 
he could distinguish a moving of chairs on the second 
floor, and then he went slowly downstairs, stopping for 
a moment or two in the lobby to give the Abb6 Bourrette 
time to catch him up. 

"Ah! is that you, your reverence? This is a fortunate 
meeting! You are going to Saint-Saturnin's, I suppose, 
and I am going that way too. We will keep each other 
company, if you have no objection.” 

The Abbd Bourrette replied that he would be delighted, 
and then they both walked slowly up the Rue Balande 
toward the Place of the Sub-Prefecture. The Abb£ was 
a stout man, with an honest, open face, and great, child¬ 
like blue eyes. His wide silk girdle that was drawn 
tightly round him threw into relief a sleek and round 
stomach. Plis arms were unduly short and his legs 
were heavy and clumsy, and he walked with his head 
thrown slightly back. 

"So you’ve just been to see our good Monsieur Faujas?” 
said Mouret, going to the point at once. "I must really 
thank you for having procured me such a lodger as is 
rarely to be found.” 

"Yes, yes,” said the priest, "he is a very good and 
worthy man.” 

"He never makes the least noise, and we couldn’t 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


65 


really tell that there was anyone in the house. I’ve 
heard it said, do you know, that he is a man of unusual 
attainments, and that he has beensent here as a sort of 
compliment to the diocese.” 

They had now reached the middle of the Place of the 
Sub-Prefecture. Mouret stopped short and looked at the 
Abbe Bourrette keenly. 

“Ah, indeed!” the priest merely replied, with an air 
of astonishment. 

"So Pve been told. The bishop, I suppose, intends 
to do something for him later on. In the meantime, the 
new curate has to keep himself in the background for 
fear of exciting jealousies.” 

The Abbd Bourrette resumed walking again and turned 
round the corner of the Rue de la Banne. 

"You surprise me very much,” he said, quietly. 
"Faujas is a very unassuming man; he is really far too 
humble. For instance, at the church he has taken upon 
himself, the little, simple duties which are generally left 
to the ordinary staff. He is a saint, but he is not very 
sharp or shrewd. I scarcely ever see him at the bishop’s 
and he has always been very cold and distant with the 
Abb£ Fenil, though I have strongly impressed it upon 
him that it is necessary to be on good terms with the Abbb 
if he wants to be well received at the bishop’s. But he 
didn’t seem to see it, and I’m afraid that he’s deficient in 
judgment. He shows the same feeling, by the way, in 
his continual visits to the Abbb Compan, who has been 
confined to his bed for the last fortnight and whom I’m 
afraid we are going to lose. The Abb^ Faujas’ visits are 
most ill-advised, and will do him a great deal of harm. 
Compan has always been antagonistic to Fenil, and it’s 
only a stranger from Besancon who could be ignorant of 
a fact that is well known to the whole diocese.” 

He was growing warm with his subject, and he 

5 


66 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


stopped short as they reached the Rue Canquoin and 
stood in front of Mouret. 

“No, no, my dear sir," he said, “you have been misin¬ 
formed; Faujas is as simple as a new-born babe. I’m 
not an ambitious man myself, and God knows how fond 
I am of Compan, who has a heart of gold, but, all the 
same, I keep my visits to him private. He said to me 
himself, ‘Bourrette, my old friend, I am not much longer 
for this world. If you want to succeed me, don’t be 
seen too often knocking at my door. Come after dark 
and knock three times, and my sister will let you in.* 
So now, you understand, I wait till night before I go 
and see him. One has quite plenty of troubles as it is 
without incurring unnecessary ones for oneself!" 

His voice quavered, and he clasped his hands across 
his stomach as he resumed his walk, moved by a naive 
egotism which made him commiserate himself, while he 
murmured: 

“Poor Compan! poor Compan!" 

Mouret was feeling quite perplexed. All his theories 
about the Abbd Faujas were being altogether upset. 

“I had such very precise details furnished to me," he 
ventured again to insist. “I was told that he was to be 
promoted to some important office." 

“Oh dear, no!” cried the priest. “I can assure you 
that there is no truth in anything of the kind. Faujas 
has no expectations of any sort. I’ll tell you something 
that proves it. You know that I dine at the president’s 
every Tuesday. Well, last week he particularly asked 
me to bring Faujas with me. He wanted to see him, 
and find out what sort of a person he was, I suppose. 
Now, you would scarcely guess what Faujas did. He 
refused the invitation, my dear sir, bluntly refused it. 
It was all to no purpose that I told him he would r make 
existence in Plassans quite intolerable to himself, and 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


67 


that he would certainly embroil himself with Fenil by 
acting so rudely to Monsieur Rastoil; he persisted in 
having his own way, and wouldn't be persuaded by any¬ 
thing that I said. I believe that he even exclaimed, in 
a moment of anger, that he wasn't reduced to accepting 
dinners of that kind." 

The Abb£ Bourrette began to smile. They had now 
reached Saint-Saturnin and he detained Mouret for a 
moment by the little gate of the church. 

“He is a child, a great child,” he continued. “I ask 
you, now, could a dinner at Monsieur Rastoil’s possibly 
compromise him in any way? When your mother-in-law, 
that good Madame Rougon, intrusted me yesterday with 
an invitation for Faujas, I did not conceal from her my 
fear that it would be badly received." 

Mouret pricked up his ears. 

“Ah! my mother-in-law gave you an invitation for him, 
did she?” 

“Yes, she came into the vestry yesterday. As I make 
a point of doing what I can to oblige her, I promised 
her that I would go and see the confounded man this 
morning. I felt quite certain, however, that he would 
refuse. ” 

“And did he?" 

“No, indeed; much to my surprise he accepted.” 

Mouret opened his lips and then closed them again 
without speaking. The priest winked his eyes with an 
appearance of extreme satisfaction. 

“I had to manage the matter very skillfully. For more 
than an hour I was explaining to him your mother-in-law's 
position. He kept shaking his head and could not make 
up his mind to go, and dwelt upon his desire for pri¬ 
vacy. I had exhausted my stock of arguments when I 
called to mind one of the instructions which the dear 
lady gave me. She had told me to say that her drawing- 


68 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


room was entirely neutral ground, and that that was a 
fact well known to all the town. When I pressed this 
upon his notice he seemed to waver and at last he con¬ 
sented to accept the invitation, and he has promised to 
go to-morrow. I am going to send a few lines to that 
excellent Madame Rougon to inform her of our success. ” 

He lingered for a moment longer, rolling his great 
blue eyes, and said more to himself than to Mouret: 

“Monsieur Rastoil will be very much vexed, but it's 
no fault of mine.” 

Then he added: 

“Good morning, dear Monsieur Mouret; remember me 
'very kindly to all your family.” 

He went into the church and let the muffled double¬ 
doors close softly behind him. Mouret gazed at them 
and slightly shrugged his shoulders. 

“There’s a fine old chatter-box!” he muttered; one of 
those men who never give you a chance of getting in a 
word, and who go on chattering away for hours without 
ever telling you anything worth listening to. SoFaujas 
is going to black Felicity’s to-morrow! It’s really very 
provoking that I am not on good terms with that fool 
Rougon!” 

All the afternoon he was occupied with business mat¬ 
ters, but at night, just as they were going to bed, he said 
carelessly to his wife: 

“Are you going to your mother’s to-morrow evening?” 

“No, not to-morrow,” Marthe replied, “I have too 
many things to do. But I dare say I shall go next week.” 

He made no immediate reply, but just before he blew 
out the candle, he said: 

“You are wrong not to go out oftener than you do. 
Go to your mother’s to-morrow evening; it will enliven 
you a little. I will stay at home and look after the chil¬ 
dren. ” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


G9 


Marthe looked at him in astonishment. He generally 
kept her at home with him, requiring all kinds of little 
services from her, and grumbling if she went out even 
for an hour. 

“Very well,” she replied, “I will go if you wish me 
to. ” 

Then he blew out the candle and laid his head upon 
the pillow, as he said to his wife: 

“That’s right; and you can tell us all about it when 
you come back. It will amuse the children.” 


VI 

About nine o’clock on the following evening, the Abb6 
Bourrette came for the Abb6 Faujas. He had promised 
to go with him to the Rougons and introduce him. He 
found him standing in the middle of his great bare room 
quite ready to start, and putting on a pair of black gloves 
that were sadly whitened at the finger-tips. He could 
not suppress a slight grimace as he looked at him. 

“Haven’t you got another cassock?” he asked. 

“No,” replied the Abb6 Faujas, very tranquilly. “This 
one is still very decent, I think.” 

“Oh, certainly! certainly!” stammered the old priest; 
“but its very cold outside. Hadn’t you better put some¬ 
thing round your shoulders? Well! well! come along 
then!” 

The nights had just commenced to be frosty. The 
Abb6 Bourrette, who was warmly wrapped up in a pad¬ 
ded silk cloak, got quite out of breath as he panted along 
after the Abb6 Faujas, who wore nothing over his 
shoulders except his thin and threadbare cassock. They 
stopped at the intersection of the Rue de la Banne with 
the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, in front of a house built 




70 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


entirely of white stone, one of the handsome mansions 
of the new part of the town, with carved rose-work on 
each floor. A servant in blue livery received them at the 
door and ushered them into the hall. He smiled at the 
Abb6 Bourette as he helped him to take off his wrapper, 
and seemed greatly surprised at the appearance of the 
other Abb6, tall, rough-hewn man as he was, who had 
ventured out on such a freezing night without a cloak. 
The drawing-room was on the first floor. 

The Abbd Faujas entered it with head erect, and 
grave, though perfectly easy, demeanor, while the Abb6 
Bourrette, who was always very nervous when he went 
to the Rougons’ house, although he never missed a sin¬ 
gle one of their receptions, deserted his companion and 
made his escape into an adjoining room. The Abb£ 
Faujas made his way slowly up the whole length of the 
drawing-room to pay his respects to the mistress of the 
house, whom he felt sure he could recognize in the mid¬ 
dle of a group of five or six ladies. He was obliged to 
introduce himself, and he did it in two or three words. 
Felicity had immediately risen from her seat, and she 
narrowly scanned him from head to foot with a hasty 
glance, and then her eyes sought his own with her pole¬ 
cat gaze, as she smilingly said: 

"I am delighted, your reverence; I am delighted in¬ 
deed. " 

The impression created by the Abb6 was an unfavora¬ 
ble one. He was too tall, too square-shouldered, and 
his face was too hard and his hands too big. His cas¬ 
sock looked so frightfully shabby beneath the bright light 
of the chandelier that the ladies felt a kind of shame at 
seeing an Abb6 so shockingly dressed. They spread out 
their fans, and began to giggle behind them, and pre¬ 
tended to be quite unconscious of the Abba’s presence. 
The men exchanged very significant glances. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


71 


Felicity saw what a very churlish welcome the priest 
was receiving; she seemed annoyed at it, and remained 
standing in the middle of the room and raised her voice 
to force her guests into hearing the compliments which 
she addressed to the Abbd. 

“That dear Bourrette,” she said in her most winning 
tones, “has told me what difficulty he had in persuading 
you to come. I am really quite cross with you, sir. 
You have no right to deprive society of the pleasure of 
your company." 

The priest bowed without making any reply, and the 
old lady laughed as she began to speak again, laying a 
meaning emphasis on certain of her words. 

“I know more about you than you imagine, in spite of 
all the care you have taken to hide your light under a 
bushel. I have been told about you; you are a very holy 
man, and I want to be your friend. We shall have an 
opportunity to talk about this by and by, for I hope that 
you will now consider yourself as one of our circle." 

The Abbd Faujas looked at her keenly as though he 
had recognized some masonic sign in the way in which 
she manipulated her fan. He lowered his voice as he 
replied to her: 

“Madame I am entirely at your service." 

“I am delighted to hear you say so,” said Madame 
Rougon with another laugh. “You will find that we do 
our best here to make every one happy. But come with 
me and let me present you to my husband.” 

She crossed the room, disturbing several of her guests 
in her progress to open out a way for the Abbd Faujas, 
and giving him an importance which completed the gen¬ 
eral prejudice against him. In the adjoining room card- 
tables were set out. She went straight up to her hus¬ 
band who was gravely playing whist. He seemed slightly 
impatient as she stooped down to whisper in his ear, but 



73 


JHE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


the few words she said to him caused him to spring up 
briskly from his seat. 

‘‘Capital! capital!” he murmured. 

Then, having first apologized to those with whom he 
was playing, he went and shook hands with the Abbd 
Faujas. 

At that time Rougon was a stout, pale man of seventy 
years of age,and he had acquired all a millionaire’s 
gravity of expression. He was generally considered by the 
Plassans people to have a fine head, the white, uncom¬ 
municative head of a man of political importance. After 
he had exchanged a few courtesies with the priest he 
resumed his seat at the card-table. Felicitd had just 
gone back into the drawing-room, her face still wreathed 
with smiles. 

The Abbd Faujas took a seat near the fire-place and 
affected to be warming his feet. He had placed himself 
in such a position that he could command through the 
widely opened door the greater part of the large draw¬ 
ing-room. He was reflecting upon Madame Rougon’s 
gracious reception of him, and he half closed his eyes as 
though he were thinking out some problem the solution 
of which escaped him. A moment or two afterward, while 
he was still absorbed in his reverie, he heard a voice be¬ 
hind him. His large-backed easy-chair quite concealed 
him from sight, and he now closed his eyes still more 
than before. He sat listening, and he looked as though 
the warmth of the fire had sent him to sleep. 

“I went to their house just once at that time,” an unc¬ 
tuous voice was saying. "They were then living oppo¬ 
site, on the other side of the Rue de la Banne. You 
were at Paris then; all Plassans at that period knew of 
the Rougons’ yellow drawing-room; a wretched room 
hung with lemon-colored paper at fifteen sous the piece, 
with rickety furniture covered with cheap velvet. Look 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


73 


at black Felicity now, dressed in plum-colored satin and 
seated on yonder couch! Do you see how she is reach¬ 
ing out her hand to little Delangre? Upon my word, she 
is giving it to him to kiss!” 

Then a younger voice said, with something of a sneer: 

"They must have managed to lay their hands on a 
pretty big share of plunder to be able to have such a 
beautiful drawing-room; it is the handsomest, you know, 
in the whole town.” 

"The lady,” the other voice resumed, “has always had 
a passion for receptions. Oh! I know all about these Rou- 
gons. They are very clever people, and the Coup d’Etat 
has enabled them to satisfy the dreams of luxury and 
pleasure which had been tormenting them for the last 
forty years! This house which they are now occupying 
formerly belonged to a Monsieur Peirotte, one of the 
receivers of taxes, who was killed in the affair at Saint- 
Roure in the insurrection of ’51. Upon my word, they’ve 
had the most extraordinary luck: a stray ball removed 
the man who was standing in their way, and they stepped 
into his place and house. If it had been a choice 
between the receivership and the house, Felicitd would 
certainly have chosen the house. She had been hanker¬ 
ing after it for half a score years nearly, and she made 
herself quite ill by covetously gazing upon the magnifi¬ 
cent curtains that hung in the window. It washerTuil- 
eries, as the Plassans people used to say, after the 2d 
of December.” 

"But where did they get the money to buy this house?” 

"Ah! no one knows that, my dear fellow. Their son 
Eugene, who has had such an amazing political success 
in Paris, and has become a foremost minister and confi¬ 
dential adviser at the Tuileries, had no difficulty in 
obtaining the receivership and the cross for his father, 
who had played his cards very cleverly here. As for the 


n 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSHNS 


house, it was probably paid for by the help of advances. 
They borrowed the money, I suppose, from some banker. 
Anyhow, they are wealthy people to-day and they are 
making up for lost time. I fancy their son keeps up a 
constant correspondence with them, for they have not 
made a single false step ” 

The voice was silent again, but only to recommence 
almost directly with a suppressed laugh. 

“Ah! I really can’t help laughing when I see that pre¬ 
cious grasshopper of a Felicitd putting on all her fine 
duchess’ airs! I always think of the old yellow draw¬ 
ing-room with its threadbare carpet and shabby furniture 
and the little fly-specked chandelier. And now, to-day, 
she receives the Rastoil young ladies. Just look how 
she is maneuvering the train of her dress! Some day, 
my dear fellow, that old woman will burst out of sheer 
triumph, in the middle of her green drawing-room!” 

The Abb£ Faujas had quietly slipped his head on one 
side that he might be able to see what was going on in 
the drawing-room. There he observed Madame Rougon 
standing in all her majesty in the center of a surround¬ 
ing group of guests. She seemed to have increased in 
stature, and every back around bent before her glance, 
that was like that of some victorious queen. 

‘Ah! here’s your father! ” said the unctuous voice; 
“the good doctor is just arriving. I’m quite surprised 
he has never told you of all these matters. He knows 
far more about them than I do.” 

“Oh! my father is always afraid lest I should com¬ 
promise him,” replied the other gayly. “You know how 
he rails at me and swears that I shall make him lose all 
his patients. Ah! excuse me, please; I see the young 
Maffres over there, I must go and shake hands with them.” 

There was a sound of chairs being moved, and the 
Abb£ Faujas saw a tall young man, whose face already 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


75 


bore signs of weariness, cross the small room. The other 
person, he who had given such a lively account of the 
Rougons, also rose from his seat. A lady who happened 
to be passing near him allowed him to pay her some 
pretty compliments; and she smiled at him and called 
him “dear Monsieur de Condamin. ” Then the priest rec¬ 
ognized him as the fine man of sixty whom Mouret had 
pointed out to him in the garden of the Sub-Prefecture. 
Monsieur de Condamin came and sat down on the other 
side of the fire-place. He was startled to see the Abb£ 
Faujas, who had been quite concealed by the back of his 
chair, but he appeared in no way disconcerted, and he 
smiled and began to talk with easy pleasantness. 

“I think, your reverence,” he began, “that we have just 
been unintentionally confessing ourselves. It’s a great 
sin, isn’t it, to backbite one’s neighbor? Fortunately 
you were there to give us absolution.” 

The Abb£, in spite of the control he had over his fea¬ 
tures, could not hide a slight blush. He perfectly un¬ 
derstood that Monsieur de Condamin was reproaching 
him for having kept himself so perfectly quiet to listen 
to what was being said. Monsieur de Condamin, how¬ 
ever, was not a man to preserve a grudge against anyone 
for their curiosity, but quite the contrary. By the end 
of a quarter of an hour he was quite at his ease. He 
was giving the Abb£ Faujas a detailed account of Plas- 
sans with all the suave politeness of the easy man of the 
world. 

“Your reverence is a stranger amongst us,” he said, 
“and I shall be delighted if I can be of any assistance 
to you. Plassans is a little hole of a place, but one 
gets reconciled to it in time. I myself come from the 
neighborhood of Dijon and when I was appointed con¬ 
servator of woods and rivers in this district, I found the 
place detestable, and thought I should be bored to death 


76 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


here. That was just before the Empire. After *51, 
the provinces were by no means cheerful places to live 
in, I can assure you. In this department the folks were 
alarmed if they heard a dog bark, and they were ready 
to sink into the ground at the sight of a gendarme. But 
they calmed down by degrees, and resumed their old, 
monotonous, uneventful existence, and in the end I got 
quite resigned to my life here. I live chiefly in the open 
air; I take long rides on horseback, and I have made a 
few pleasant friendships.” 

He lowered his voice, and continued in confidential 
tones: 

“If you will take my advice, your reverence, you will 
be careful what you do. You can’t imagine what a 
scrape I was once neary falling into. Plassans, you 
know, is divided into three absolutely distinct divisions; 
the old district, where your duties will be confined to 
administering consolation and alms; the district of 
Saint-Marc, where our aristocrats live, a district that is 
full of tediousness and ill-feeling, and where you can’t 
be too much upon your guard; and, lastly, the new town, 
the district that is now springing up round the Sub- 
Prefecture, which is the only one where it is possible to 
live with any degree of comfort. At first I was foolish 
enough to take up my quarters in the Saint-Marc district, 
where I thought that my position required me to reside. 
There, alack! I found myself surrounded by a lot of 
withered old dowagers and mummified marquises. There 
wasn’t an atom of sociability, not a scrap of gayety, 
nothing but a sulky mutiny against the prosperous peace 
that the country was enjoying. I only just missed com¬ 
promising myself, upon my word, I did. Pequeur used 
to chaff me, Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies, our sub-pre¬ 
fect; you know him, don’t you? Well, then I moved 
into the Cours Sauvaire, and I took rooms on the Place, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


77 


At Plassans, you must know, the crowd is of no account, 
and the aristocracy are a dreadful lot that it’s quite 
impossible to get on with; the only tolerable people are 
a few parvenus, quite delightful persons who are ready 
to incur any expense in entertaining their official ac¬ 
quaintances. Our little circle of functionaries is a very 
delightful one. We live amongst ourselves after our 
own inclinations, without caring a rap about the towns¬ 
people, just as if we had pitched our camp in some con¬ 
quered country.” 

He laughed complaisantly and stretched himself 
further back in his chair, and turned up his feet to the 
fire; then he took a glass of punch from the tray which 
one of the servants handed to him, and sipped it slowly 
while he continued to watch the Abbd Faujas out of the 
corner of his eye. The latter felt that politeness re¬ 
quired him to say something. 

"This house seems a very pleasant one,” he remarked, 
turning himself half-round toward the green drawing¬ 
room, from whence the sound of animated conversation 
was proceeding. 

“Yes, yes,” resumed Monsieur de Condamin, who 
checked his remarks every now and then to take a little 
sip of his punch. “The Rougons almost make us forget 
Paris. You would scarcely fancy here that you were in 
Plassans. It is the only pleasant and amusing drawing¬ 
room in the whole place, because it is the only one 
where all shades of opinion elbow each other. Pequeur, 
too, has very pleasant receptions. It must cost the 
Rougons a lot of money, and they haven’t the public 
purse behind them like Pequeur has; though they have 
something better still, the pockets of the tax-payers." 

He seemed quite pleased with this witticism of his. 
He put down his empty glass, which he bad been holding 
in his hand, upon the mantel-piece, and then, drawing 


78 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSHNS 


his chair near to the Abb6 Faujas and leaning forward 
toward him, he began to speak again: 

“The most amusing comedies are being continually 
played here. But you ought to know the actors to 
appreciate them. You see Madame Rastoil over yonder 
between her two daughters, that lady of about forty-five 
with a head like a sheep’s? Well, have you noticed 
how her eyelids trembled and blinked when Delangre 
came and sat in front of her? Delangre is the man there 
on the left, with a likeness to Punch. They were ac¬ 
quainted intimately some ten years ago, and he is said 
to be the father of one of the girls, but it isn’t known 
which. The funniest part of the business is that Delangre 
himseif didn’t get on very well with his wife about the 
same time; and people say that the father of his daugh¬ 
ter is an artist very well known in Plassans. " 

The Abb6 Faujas considered that it was his duty to 
assume a serious expression on being made the recipient 
of confidences of such a nature as these, and he com¬ 
pletely closed his eyes and seemed as though he no 
longer heard what was being said. Monsieur de Con- 
damin continued, as though in justification of himself: 

“I allow myself to speak in this way of Delangre, as 
I know him so well. He’s a wonderfully clever and 
pushing fellow. His father was a bricklayer, I believe. 
Fifteen years ago he used to take up the little petty 
suits that the other lawyers wouldn’t be bothered with. 
Madame Rastoil extricated him from a condition of abso¬ 
lute penury; she supplied him even with wood in the 
winter time to enable him to keep himself warm. It 
was through her influence that he won his first cases. 
It’s worth mentioning that at that time Delangre had 
been shrewd enough to manifest no particular political 
proclivities; and so, in 1852, when they were looking 
out for a mayor, his name was at once thought of. He 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


79 


was the only man who could have been chosen without 
alarming one or other of the three divisions of the town. 
From that time everything has prospered with him, and 
he has a fine future before him. The only unfortunate 
part of the matter is that he doesn’t get on very well 
with Pequeur, and they are always wrangling about some 
silly trifles or other.” 

He broke off as he saw the tall young man, with whom 
he had been chatting previously, coming up to him 
again. 

“Monsieur Guillaume Porquier,” he said, introducing 
him to the Abb£, “the son of Doctor Porquier.” 

Then, as Guillaume seated himself, he asked him with 
a touch of irony: 

“Well! what did you see to admire over yonder?” 

“Nothing at all, indeed!” replied the young man with 
a smile. “I saw the Paloques. Madame Rougon always 
tries to hide them behind a curtain to prevent anything 
unpleasant happening. Paloque never takes his eyes off 
President Rastoil, hoping, probably, to kill him with 
suppressed horror. You know, of course, that the hide¬ 
ous fellow hopes to die president.” 

They both laughed. The ugliness of the Paloques was 
a perpetual source of amusement amongst the little cir¬ 
cle of officials. Porquier’s son lowered his voice as he 
continued: 

“I saw Monsieur Bourdeu, too. Doesn’t it strike you 
that he’s got ever so much thinner since the Marquis de 
Lagrifoul’s election? Bourdeu will never get over the 
loss of his prefecture; he had put all his Orleanist rancor 
at the service of the Legitimists in the hope that that 
course would lead him straight to the Chamber, where 
he would be able to win back his much regretted pre¬ 
fecture. Consequently he has been horribly disgusted 
and hurt that instead of himself they chose the marquis, 


80 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


Who is a perfect ass and hasn’t the faintest notion of 
politics, while he, Bourdeu, is a very shrewd fellow.” 

‘‘That Bourdeu, with his tightly-buttoned frock-coat 
and broad-brimmed hat, is a most over-bearing person,” 
said Monsieur de Condamin shrugging his shoulders. 
“If such people as he were allowed to have their own 
way they would turn France into a mere Sorbonne of 
lawyers and diplomatists, and would bore us all to 
death—Oh! by the way, Guillaume, I have been hearing 
about you. You seem to be leading a merry sort of 
life. ” 

“I?” exclaimed the young man with a smile. 

“Yes, you, my fine fellow! and observe that I get my 
information from your father. He is much distressed 
about it, and he accuses you of gambling and of staying 
out all night at the club and other places. Is it true 
that you have discovered a low caf<§ behind the gaol 
where you go with a company of scamps and play the 
devil’s own game? I have even been told—” 

Here Monsieur de Condamin, observing two ladies en¬ 
ter the room, began to whisper in Guillaume’s ear, while 
the young man replied with affirmative signs and shook 
with suppressed laughter. Then he bent forward in turn 
and whispered to Monsieur de Condamin, and the two 
of them, drawing themselves closely together with bright¬ 
ly glistening eyes, seemed to derive a prolonged enjoy¬ 
ment from this private story, which they did not dare to 
allow to reach the ladies’ ears. 

The Abb£ Faujas had remained where he was. He 
could not hear what was being said, and he was occupy¬ 
ing himself by watching the movements of Monsieur 
Delangre, who was bustling about the green drawing¬ 
room and making himself extremely agreeable. He was 
so absorbed in his observations that he did not see the 
Abbd Bourrette beckoning to him, and the latter was 


The conquest of plassans 


81 


obliged to come and touch his shoulder and ask him to 
follow him. He led him into the card-room with all 
the precaution of a man who has some very delicate com¬ 
munication to make. 

"My dear fellow," he whispered, when they were alone 
in a quiet corner, "it is excusable in you, as this is the 
first time you have been here, but I must warn you that 
you have compromised yourself very considerably by talk¬ 
ing so long with the persons you have just left.” 

Then, as the Abb6 Faujas looked at him with great 
surprise, he added: 

"Those persons are not looked upon very favorably. 

I myself am not passing any judgment upon them, and 
I don’t want to repeat any scandal. I am simply warn¬ 
ing you out of pure friendship, that's all.” 

He was going away, but the Abb6 Faujas detained 
him, and said to him with a show of earnestness: 

"You disquiet me, my dear Monsieur Bourrette; I beg 
fo you to explain yourself. Without speaking any ill of 
any one, you can surely be a little clearer.” 

"Very well,” replied the old priest, after a moment¬ 
ary hesitation, "Doctor Porquier’s son causes the great¬ 
est distress to his worthy father, and sets the worst ex¬ 
ample to all the studious youth of Plassans. He left 
nothing but debts behind him at Paris, and here he is 
turning the whole town upside down. As for Monsieur 
de Condamin—” 

Here he hesitated again, feeling embarrassed by the 
enormity of what he had to relate; then, lowering his 
eyes, he resumed: 

"Monsieur de Condamin is free in his conversation, 
and I fear he is deficient in a sense of morality. He 
spares no one, and he scandalizes every honorable person. 
Then—I really hardly know how to tell you—but he has 
contracted, it is said, a not very creditable marriage. 

6 


82 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


You see that young woman there, who is not thirty years 
old, and who has such a crowd round her? Well, he 
brought her to Plassans one day from no one knows 
where. From the day of her arrival, she has been all- 
powerful here. It is she who has got her husband and 
Doctor Porquier decorated. She has influential friends 
at Paris. But I beg of you not to repeat any of this. 
Madame de Condamin is very amiable and charitable. 
I go to her house sometimes, and I should be extremely 
distressed, if I thought that she considered me an enemy 
of hers. If she has committed faults, it is our duty— 
is it not?—to help her return to a better way of life. 
As for her husband, he is, between ourselves a perfect 
scamp. Have as little as possbile to do with him.” 

The Abbd Faujas gazed into the worthy Bourrette’s 
eyes. He had just noticed that Madame Rougon was 
following their conversation from the distance, with 
an air of preoccupation. 

“Wasn’t it Madame Rougon who told you to come and 
give me this good advice?” he suddenly asked of the old 
priest. 

“How did you know that?” the latter exclaimed in 
great astonishment. “She asked me not to mention her 
name, but since you have guessed it— Ah! she is a 
good, kind-hearted lady who would be much distressed 
to see a priest compromising himself in her house. She 
is unfortunately compelled to receive all sorts of per¬ 
sons. ” 

The Abb£ Faujas expressed his thanks, and promised 
to be more prudent in the future. The card-players had 
not taken any notice of the two priests, and the Abbd 
Faujas returned into the big drawing-room, where he was 
again conscious of hostile surroundings. He even ex¬ 
perienced a greater coldness and a more silent contempt 
than before. While he was still standing there, behind 


THE CONQUEST OF FLASSANS 


83 


the Rastoil young ladies, who had not observed him, he 
heard the younger one ask her sister: 

"What was it that this priest, of whom every one is 
talking, did at Besancon?” 

"I don’t quite know,” the elder sister replied. "I 
believe he nearly murdered his vicar in a quarrel they 
had. Papa also said that he had been mixed up in some 
great business speculation which turned out badly.” 

"He’s in the small room over there, isn’t he? Some¬ 
body has just seen him laughing with Monsieur de Con- 
damin. ” 

"Oh! then they’re quite right to distrust him if he 
laughs with Monsieur de Condamin. ” 

This gossip of the two girls made the perspiration 
start from the Abbd Faujas’ brows. He did not frown, 
but his lips were tightly compressed and his cheeks took 
an ashy tint. He seemed to hear the whole room talking 
of the priest whom he had tried to murder, and of the 
shady transactions in which he had been concerned. 

Opposite him Were Monsieur Delangre and Doctor 
Porquier, still looking very severe ; Monsieur de Bourdeu’s 
mouth was twisted scornfully, as he said something in 
low tones to a lady; Monsieur Maffre, the magistrate, 
was casting furtive glances at him and seemed to be 
piously resolved to examine him from a distance before 
condemning him; and at the other end of the room the 
two- hideous Paloques craned out their malice-warped 
faces, in which shone a wicked joy at all the cruel stories 
that were being whispered about. The Abbd Faujas 
slowly retired as he saw Madame Rastoil, who had been 
standing a few yards away, come up and seat herself be¬ 
tween her two daughters as though to keep them under 
the protection of her wing, and shield them from his 
touch. 

As the priest stood there gazing at the company from 


84 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSHNS 


under his half-closed eyelids, he suddenly made, a slight 
start, which he quickly suppressed. He had just caught 
sight of the Abb6 Fenil leaning back in an easy-chair, 
and smiling quietly behind a perfect wall of petticoats. 
The eyes of the two men met, and they gazed at each 
other for some moments with the fierce expression of a 
couple of duelists about to engage in mortal combat. 
Then there was a rustling of silk, and the Abbd Fenil 
was hidden from sight by the ladies’ dresses. 

Felicitd now contrived to get herself into the neigh¬ 
borhood of the piano, and when she had succeeded in 
getting the elder of the Rastoil girls, who had a pleas¬ 
ant voice, seated at it, and was able to speak to the 
Abbd Faujas without being heard, she drew him aside 
to one of the windows and said to him: 

“What have you done to the Abbd Fenil?” 

They began to talk in very low tones. The priest at 
first feigned surprise, but when Madame Rougon had 
murmured a few words, accompanied by sundry shrug- 
ings of her shoulders, he seemed to grow more open and 
talked more freely. They were both smiling and seemed 
to be merely exchanging ordinary courtesies, though the 
glistening of their eyes spoke of something much more 
serious. The piano was silent for a moment, and the 
elder Mademoiselle Rastoil began to sing “La Colombe 
du Soldat," which was a very favorite song at that 
time. 

“Your debut has been most unfortunate," Felicitd 
continued; “you have set people against you and I 
should advise you not to come again for a considerable 
time. You must make yourself popular and a favorite, 
you understand. Any rash act would be fatal.” 

The Abbd Faujas seemed absorbed in thought. 

“You say that it was the Abbd Fenil who circulated 
these abominable stories? ” he asked. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


85 


"Oh, he is much too wily to commit himself in such 
a way. He will just have faintly suggested them to 
his penitents. I don’t know whether he has found you 
out, but he is certainly afraid of you! I am quite sure 
of that, and he will attack you in every possible way. 
The most unfortunate part of the matter is that he 
confesses the most important people in the town. It 
was he who had the Marquis de Lagrifoul elected.” 

“I was wrong to come this evening,” the priest mur¬ 
mured. 

Felicity bit her lips; then she continued with anima¬ 
tion: 

“You are wrong to compromise yourself with such a 
man as that Condamin. I did what I thought was for the 
best. When the person that you know of wrote to me 
from Paris I thought that I should be doing you a serv¬ 
ice by inviting you here. I imagined that you would 
be able to make it an opportunity for gaining friends. 
But, instead of doing what you could to make yourself 
popular, you have set every one against you. Please 
excuse my freedom, but you really seem to be doing all 
you can to insure your failure. You have committed 
nothing but mistakes in going to lodge with my son-in- 
law, in persistently keeping yourself aloof from others, 
and in going about in a cassock which makes the street- 
lads jeer at you. ” 

The Abb6 Faujas could not suppress a movement of 
impatience. But he merely replied: 

“I will profit by your kind advice. Only, don’t try 
to assist me—that would mar everything.” 

“Yes, what you say is only prudent,” replied the old 
lady. “Only return to this room triumphant. One last 
word my dear, sir. The person in Paris is most anxious 
for your success, and it is for that reason that I am 
interesting myself in you. Now, don’t make people 


86 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


frightened of you and cause them to shun you; be pleas¬ 
ant and make yourself agreeable to the ladies. Remem¬ 
ber that particularly; you must make yourself agreeable 
to the ladies if you want to get Plassans on your side.” 

The elder Mademoiselle Rastoil had just finished her 
song with a final flourish and the guests were softly 
applauding her. Madame Rougon left the Abb 6 to go 
and congratulate the singer. Then she went and took 
up her position in the middle of the room and shook 
hands with the visitors who were beginning to retire. It 
was eleven o’clock. The Abb£ was much vexed to find 
that the worthy Bourrette had taken advantage of the 
music to effect his escape. He had been calculating on 
leaving with him, a course which would have enabled 
him to make a respectable departure. Now he would 
have to go away alone, which would be very prejudicial 
to him, as it would be reported through the town in 
the morning that he had been turned out of the house. 

He retired again into the window-recess and spied 
about to find the means of making an honorable retreat. 

The room was emptying fast, however, and there were 
only a few ladies left. At last he noticed one who was 
very simply dressed; it was Madame Mouret, whose 
slightly waving hair made her look younger than usual. 

He looked with surprise upon her tranquil face and 
her great, peaceful, black eyes. While he was looking 
at her, she rose to take leave of her mother. 

Felicity was feeling the most thrilling pleasure at see¬ 
ing the highest society of Plassans leaving her with po¬ 
lite bows and thanking her for her punch and her green 
drawing-room and the pleasant evening they had spent 
there; and she was thinking how formerly these same 
fine folks had trampled her underfoot, to use her own 
expression, while now the richest amongst them could 
not find sweet enough smiles for "dear Madame Rougon.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


87 


“Ah madame!” murmured Maffre, the magistrate, "one 
quite forgets the passage of time here.” 

“You are the only pleasant hostess in all this uncivil¬ 
ized place,” pretty Madame de Condamin smiled. 

“We shall expect you at dinner to-morrow, ” said Mon¬ 
sieur Delangre, “but you must take pot-luck, for we don’t 
pretend to do as you do.” 

Marthe was obliged to make her way through all this 
incense-offering crowd to reach her mother. She kissed 
her, and was about to retire when Felicity detained her 
and seemed to be looking round and trying to find some 
one. Then, catching sight of the Abb6 Faujas, she said 
with a smile: 

“Is your reverence a gallant man?” 

The Abb£ bowed. 

“Then I should be much obliged to you if you would 
escort my daughter home. You both live in the same 
house, and so it will not put you to any inconvenience, 
and there is a little piece of dark lane which is not very 
pleasant for a lady by herself.” 

Marthe assured her mother, in her quiet way, that she 
was not a little girl and was not at all afraid, but as Fe¬ 
licity insisted and said she should feel easier if she had 
some one with her, she accepted the Abba’s escort. As 
the latter was leaving the room with her, Felicity, who 
accompanied them out onto the landing, whispered in 
the priest’s ear with a smile: 

“Don’t forget what I told you. You must make your¬ 
self agreeable to the ladies, if you want to get Plassans 
on your side.” 


VII 

That same night Mouret, who was still awake when 



88 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


his wife returned home, plied Marthe with a long string 
of questions in his desire to find out what had taken 
place at Madame Rougon’s. She told him that every¬ 
thing had gone off just as usual,and that nothing out of 
the common had happened. She just added that the 
Abb6 Faujas had walked home with her, and that their 
conversation had been merely upon commonplace topics. 
Mouret was very much vexed at what he called his wife’s 
indifference. 

“If anyone had committed suicide at your mother’s,” 
he growled, as he angrily buried his head in the pillow, 
“you would know nothing about it! ” 

When he came home to dinner the next day, he cried 
out to Marthe as soon as he caught sight of her. 

“I was quite sure of it! I knew you had never troubled 
yourself to use your eyes! It’s just like you! Why, 
the whole town is talking about it! I couldn’t go any¬ 
where without some one speaking to me about it!” 

“About what, my dear?” asked Marthe in astonishment. 

“About the extraordinary success of the Abb£ Faujas, 
forsooth! He was actually turned out of the green draw¬ 
ing-room! ” 

“Indeed he wasn’t! I saw nothing of the kind.” 

“Haven't I told you that you never see anything? 
Do you know what the Abb£ did at Besancon? He either 
murdered a priest or committed forgery! They can’t 
tell for certain which it was. However, they seem to 
have given him a nice reception! He turned quite green. 
Well, it’s all up with him now!” 

Marthe bent down her head and allowed her husband to 
revel in the priest’s discomfiture. Mouret seemed wildly 
delighted. 

“I still stick to my first idea,” he said; “your mother 
and he have got some underhand plot together. I hear 
that she showed him the greatest civility. It was she, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


89 


wasn’t it, who asked him to accompany you home? 
Why didn’t you tell me so?” 

Marthe shrugged her shoulders slightly without reply¬ 
ing. 

"You are the most provoking woman!” her husband 
cried. “All the little details are of the greatest import 
ance. Madame Paloque, whom I just met, told me that 
she and several other ladies had lingered behind to see 
how the Abbd would effect his departure, and that your 
mother availed herself of you to cover the parson’s 
retreat. Just try to remember, now, what he said to 
you as he walked home with you.” 

He sat down by his wife’s side and kept his keen 
little eye fixed upon her. 

"Really,” she said quietly, "he only talked to me about 
the most trifling matters, the merest commonplaces 
such as anyone might have said. He spoke about the 
cold, which was very sharp, and about the quietness of 
the town in the night-time, and then I think he spoke 
of the pleasant evening he had passed.” 

"Ah, the hypocrite! Didn’t he ask you any ques¬ 
tion about your mother or her guests?” 

"No. It’s only a very short distance, you know, from 
the Rue de la Banne to here, and it didn’t take us three 
minutes. He walked at my side without giving me his 
arm, and he took such long strides that I was almost 
obliged to run. I don’t know why they should all be so 
bitter against him. He doesn’t seem very well off, and 
he was shivering, poor man, in that worn old cassock of 
his. ” 

Mouret was not without pity and sympathy. 

"Ah! he must have shivered,” be said; "he can’t be 
able to keep himself warm now that the frost has come.” 

"I’m sure we have nothing to complain of in his con¬ 
duct,” Marthe continued. "He is very punctual in his 


90 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


payments, and he makes no noise and gives no trouble. 
Where can you find a more desirable tenant?” 

“Nowhere, I grant you. What I was saying just now 
was to show you what little attention you pay wherever 
you go, to what is going on about you. I don’t suppose 
for a moment that the Abb6 has murdered anyone any 
more than he has been bankrupt; and I said to Madame 
Paloque that people ought to see that their own linen 
was clean before finding fault with that of others. I 
hope she took the hint to herself.” 

This was a fib on Mouret’s part, for he had said noth¬ 
ing of the kind to Madame Paloque; but Marthe’s gen¬ 
tle pity had made him feel a little ashamed of the de¬ 
light he had manifested at the Abba’s troubles. On the 
following days he went entirely over to the priest’s side, 
and when he happened to meet a set of people that he 
detested, Monsieur de Bourdeu, Monsieur Delangre, and 
Doctor Porquier, he launched out into a warm eulogium 
of the Abb£, for the pleasure of annoying them. The 
Abbd was, he told them, a man of great courage and 
perfect guiielessness, but poor, and that it must have 
been some very base-minded person who had originated 
the calumnies about him. 

“Isn’t it pitiable?" he said sometimes to his wife, 
forgetting that she had heard him tell a very different 
story, ‘‘isn’t it pitiable to see a lot of people who have 
stolen their money from no one knows where, so bitter 
against a poor man just because he hasn’t got fifty 
francs to spare to buy a new cassock? Such conduct 
quite disgusts me! I ought to know what he does and 
what sort of a man he is, since he lives in my house; and 
so I’m not backward in telling them the truth. I want 
the Abb<§ to be my friend, and I mean to walk out with 
him arm-in-arm along the promenade to let people know 
that I’m not afraid of being seen with him, rich and 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


91 


well-thought-of as I am; and I hope you will show all 
the kindness and consideration to these poor people that 
you can.” 

Marthe smiled quietly. She was delighted at the 
friendly disposition her husband was manifesting for 
their lodgers. Rose was ordered to show them every 
civility, and she was instructed to volunteer to do Mad¬ 
ame Faujas’ shopping for her on wet mornings. The 
latter, however, always declined the cook’s services, but 
she no longer manifested that silent stiffness of demean¬ 
or which she had shown during the earlier days of her 
residence in the house. 

The Abb6 Faujas, too, did not now glide so hurriedly 
up and down the stairs as he had been used to do, and 
almost every day, as Mouret heard the rustling of his 
cassock as he came down, he presented himself at the 
foot of the staircase and told the priest that it would 
give him great pleasure to walk part of the way with 
him. He had thanked him for the little service he had 
done his wife, skillfully questioning him at the same time 
to find out if he intended again presenting himself at 
the Rougons’. The Abbd had smiled and freely con¬ 
fessed that he was not fitted for society. Mouret was de¬ 
lighted, feeling quite certain that he had had some in¬ 
fluence in bringing about his lodger’s decision, and he 
began to dream of bstracting him entirely from the 
green drawing-room and keeping him altogether to him¬ 
self. So, when Marthe told him one evening that Mad¬ 
ame Faujas had accepted a couple of pears, he looked 
upon it as a fortunate circumstance which would facili¬ 
tate the execution of his designs. 

"Haven’t they really got a fire on the second floor this 
bitterly cold weather?” he asked in Rose’s presence. 

“No, indeed, sir,” replied the cook, who understood 
that the question was meant for herself, "they couldn’t 


02 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


very well, for I’ve never seen the least bit of wood taken 
upstairs, unless they’re burning their four chairs, or Mad¬ 
ame Faujas manages to carry up the wood in her basket. ” 

“It is not right of you to talk in that way, Rose,” 
said Marthe. “The poor things must be shivering with 
cold in those big rooms.” 

“I should think so, indeed,” exclaimed Mouret; “there 
were several degrees of frost last night and there was 
considerable fear felt about the olive-trees. The water 
in our jug upstairs was frozen. This room of ours here 
is a small one, and very warm.” 

The dining-room was carefully protected with pads, so 
that not the least draught could find its way through 
any crevice, and a great earthenware stove made the 
place as warm as a bake-house. In the winter time the 
young people read or amused themselves round the table, 
while Mouret made his wife play piquet till bed-time, 
which was a perfect punishment to her. 

“Don’t you think,” Mouret continued, “that we really 
ought to ask the Faujases to come and spend the even¬ 
ings here? They could at any rate be warm for two or 
three hours; and they would be company for us, too, 
and make us feel more lively. Ask them, and I don’t 
think they’ll refuse ” 

The next day when Marthe met Madame Faujas in the 
lobby, the invitation was given, and the old lady at once 
accepted it for herself and her son without the slightest 
hesitation. 

“I’m surprised she didn’t make some little demur about 
coming,” Mouret said. “The Abb^ is beginning to under¬ 
stand that he is wrong in living like a wild beast.” 

In the evening Mouret took care that the table was 
cleared in good time, and he put out a bottle of sweet 
wine and a plateful of little cakes which he had ordered 
to be bought. The tenants of the second floor came 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


93 


downstairs about eight o’clock. The Abb6 Faujas was 
wearing a new cassock and Mouret was so much surprised 
at the sight that he could only stammer out a few words 
in answer to the priest’s courtesies. 

“Indeed, your reverence, all the honor is for us. Come, 
children, put some chairs here!” 

They all took their seats round the table. The room 
was uncomfortably warm, for Mouret had crammed the 
stove as full as it would hold to let his guests see that 
he made no account of a log more or less. The Abb6 
Faujas made himself very pleasant, fondling D£sir£e 
and questioning the two lads about their studies. Marthe, 
who was knitting stockings, raised her eyes every now 
and then in surprise at the flexible tones of this un¬ 
wonted voice which she had not been accustomed to hear, 
sounding in the monotonous quietness of the dining¬ 
room. She looked at the priest’s powerful face and his 
square-cut features, and then she bent her head again, 
without trying to hide the interest she took in this man 
who she knew was so poor. Mouret could not restrain 
himself from saying, with a sly smile: 

“You needn’t have troubled yourself, your reverence, 
to dress to come here. We don’t go in for ceremony, 
as you know very well.” 

Marthe blushed, while the priest gayly related that he 
had bought the cassock that day. He kept it on, he 
said, to please his mother, who thought he looked finer 
than a king in his new robe. 

“Don’t you, mother?" he asked of the old lady. 

Madame Faujas nodded her head without taking her 
6yes off her son. 

They began to talk about various matters, and the 
Abb6 Faujas appeared to throw off all his gloomy re¬ 
serve. He listened attentively to Mouret, replied to his 
most insignificant remarks, and seemed to take an inter- 


94 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


est in his gossiping talk. His landlord finished his ac¬ 
count by saying: 

“We spend our evenings in the way you see, always 
as quietly at this. We never invite anyone, as we are 
always more comfortable by ourselves. Every evening 
I have a game at piquet with my wife. It is a very old 
habit of ours and I could scarcely go to sleep without 
it. ” 

“Pray don’t let us interfere with it!" cried the Abbd 
Faujas. 

“Oh dear no! It won’t kill me to go without it for 
once. ” 

The priest insisted for a time, but, when he saw that 
Marthe showed even greater determination than her hus¬ 
band not to play, he turned toward his mother, who had 
been sitting silent with her hands folded in front of her, 
and said to her: 

“Mother, you have a game with Monsieur Mouret." 

She looked keenly into her son’s eyes. Mouret still 
continued to refuse to play and declared that he did not 
want to break up the party, but when the priest told 
him that his mother was a good player he gave way. 

“Is she, indeed?" he said. “Then, if madame really 
wishes it, and no one objects—" 

“Come along, mother, and have a game!" the Abbd 
Faujas said in more decided tones. 

“Certainly," she replied, “I shall be delighted; but 
I shall have to change my place." 

“Oh! there will be no difficulty about that," said 
Mouret, who was quite charmed. “You had better take 
your son’s place, and perhaps your reverence will be 
good enough to go and sit next to my wife,and then ma¬ 
dame can sit there next to me. There! that will do cap¬ 
itally." 

The priest, who had at first been sitting opposite to 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


95 


Marthe on the other side of the table, was now sitting 
next to her. They were quite apart by themselves at 
one end of the table, the two players having drawn their 
chairs close together to engage in their struggle. Octave 
and Serge had just gone up to their room. Ddsir^e was 
sleeping with her head on the table after her usual cus¬ 
tom. When ten o’clock struck, Mouret, who had lost 
the first game, did not feel inclined to go to bed and 
asked for his revenge. Madame Faujas consulted her 
son with a glance, and then in her tranquil fashion began 
to shuffle the cards. The Abbd had merely exchanged 
a few words with Marthe, only on commonplace topics. 
Marthe replied with a show of interest, and importing 
into the conversation something of her own quiet restful¬ 
ness. 

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Mouret threw 
down the cards with some slight irritation. 

“I have lost again!” he said. “I haven’t had a single 
good card all the evening. Perhaps I shall have better 
luck to morrow. We shall see you again then, I hope, 
madame?” 

And when the Abbd Faujas began to protest that they 
could not think of abusing the Mourets’ kindness by 
disturbing them in this way every evening, he contin¬ 
ued: 

“But you are not disturbing us at all, you are giving 
us pleasure. Besides, I have been defeated, and I’m 
sure madame can’t refuse me another game. 

When the priest and his mother had accepted the 
invitation and had gone upstairs again, Mouret began 
to excuse himself for having lost. 

“The old woman isn’t as good a player as I am, I’m 
sure,” he said to his wife; “but she has got such eyes! 
I could really almost fancy she was cheating! Well! we 
shall see what happens to-morrow.” 


96 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


From that time the Faujases came down regularly 
every day to spend the evening with the Mourets. There 
were tremendous battles between the old lady and her 
landlord. She seemed to play with him and to let him 
win just frequently enough to prevent his being alto¬ 
gether discouraged, and this made him fume \pth 
suppressed anger, for he prided himself on his skill at 
piquet. From eight o’clock till bed-time they both re¬ 
mained seated at their end of the table, quite absorbed 
in their game. 

At the other end, near the stove, the Abh6 Faujas and 
Marthe were left entirely to themselves. The Abbd felt 
a masculine and priestly disdain for all women, and in 
spite of himself this disdain often made itself manifest 
in some slightly harsh expressions. At these times Marthe 
was affected with a strange feeling of anxiety, and raised 
her eyes with one of those sudden thrills of alarm which 
cause people to cast a hurried glance behind them, half 
expecting to see some concealed enemy raising his hand 
to strike. At other times she would check herself sud¬ 
denly in the midst of a laugh on catching sight of his 
cassock, and she would relapse into silence, quite con¬ 
fused and astonished at finding herself talking so freely 
to a man who was so different from other men. It was a 
long time before there was any real intimacy between 
them. 

The Abb6 Faujas never directly questioned Marthe about 
her husband, or her children, or her house; but, never¬ 
theless, he gradually made himself master of the slightest 
details of their history and manner of life. Every even¬ 
ing, while Mouret and Madame Faujas were contending 
furiously with each other, he contrived to learn some 
new fact. Upon one occasion he remarked that the hus¬ 
band and wife were surprisingly alike. 

“Yes,” Marthe replied with a smile “when we were 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 97 

twenty years old we used to be ^taken for brother and 
sister; and, indeed, it was a little owing to that that we 
got married. People used to jok« us about it, and were 
continually making us stand side by side, and saying 
what a fine couple we should make. The likeness was 
so striking that the worthy Monsieur Compan, though 
he knew us quite well, hesitated to marry us.” 

“But you are cousins, are you not?” the priest asked. 

”Yes, ” she replied, with a slight blush, ‘‘my husband 
is a Macquart, and I am a Rougon. ” 

Then she kept silence for a moment or two, ill at ease, 
for she felt sure that the priest knew the history of her 
family which was so notorious at Plassans. The Mac- 
quarts were an illegitimate branch of the Rougons. 

“The most singular part of it is, ” she resumed, to con¬ 
ceal her embarrassment, “that we both resemble our 
grandmother. My husband's mother transmitted the 
likeness to him, while in me it has been reproduced after 
a break. It has leaped over my father.” 

Then the Abb£ cited a similar instance in his own 
family. He had a sister, he said, who was the living 
image of her mother's grandfather. The likeness in this 
case had leaped over two generations. His sister, too, 
closely resembled the old man in her character and hab¬ 
its, and even in her gestures and the tone of her voice. 

“It was just the same with me when I was a little girl; 
I have heard people say,” remarked Marthe, “‘That's 
aunt Dide all over again!' The poor woman is now at 
Les Tulettes. She never had a strong head. As I have 
grown older, I have become less excitable and stronger, 
but I remember that when I was a child I hadn't very 
good health, and I used to have attacks of giddiness, and 
to be filled with the strangest fancies.” 

“And your husband? ” 

“Oh! he takes after his father, a journeyman hatter, a 

7 



08 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


careful, prudent man. But, though we were so much 
alike in face, it was quite a different matter as to our 
dispositions; yet as time has gone on we have grown to 
resemble each other very much. We were so peaceful and 
happy in our business at Marseilles! The fifteen years 
that I spent there have taught me to find happiness in 
my own home, in the midst of my children.” 

The Abbd Faujas noticed a touch of bitterness in her 
tone every time he led her to speak on this subject. He 
imagined a little drama for himself, in which this hus¬ 
band and wife, who were so alike in appearance, were 
considered by their relations as being made for each 
other, and were forced into marriage, while, in reality, 
the taint of illegitimacy, and the disagreement of min¬ 
gled and always inharmonious strains of blood, helped 
to irritate the antagonism of two different temperaments. 
Then his mind dwelt upon the soporific effect of the fif¬ 
teen years’ fortune-making upon these two natures, who 
were now living upon that fortune in a sleepy corner of 
a small town. To-day, though they were both still young, 
there seemed to be nothing left but the ashes of their 
former selves. The Abbd tried cleverly to discover 
whether Marthe was resigned to her existence, and he 
found her full of common sense. 

“I am quite contented with my home,” she said; “my 
children are all that I want. I have never been much 
given to gayety, and I only feel a little dull here some¬ 
times, that is all. I dare say I should have been better 
if I had had some mental occupation, but I have never 
been able to find one. And perhaps, after all, it’s as 
well I haven’t, for I should very likely have split my 
head. I could never even read a novel without giving 
myself a frightful headache, and for some nights after¬ 
ward all the characters used to dance about in my brain. 
Needlework is the only thing which never fatigues 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


99 


me, and I stay at home to keep out of the way of all the 
noise and chatter outside, and all the frivolous follies 
which only weary me.” 

She paused every now and then to glance at D£sir£e, 
who was sleeping with her head upon the table, and kept 
smiling with her innocent smile as she slept. 

‘‘Poor child!” she murmured. “She can’t even do any 
needle-work. She gets dizzy directly. She is fond of 
animals, and That’s all she’s capable of. When she 
goes to stay a month with her nurse she spends all her 
time in the farm-yard, and she comes back to me with 
rosy cheeks and as strong and well as possible.” 

She often spoke of Les Tulettes, manifesting a lurking 
fear of insanity, and the Abbd Faujas thus became 
aware of a strange dread haunting this peaceful home. 
Marthe loved her husband with a sober, unimpassioned 
love, but there was mingled with her affection for him a 
fear of his jokes and pleasantries, and his perpetual wor- 
ryings. She was hurt, too, by his selfishness, and the > 
loneliness in which he left her. When she spoke of 
him, she said: 

“He is very good to us. You’ve heard him, I daresay, 
get angry sometimes, but that arises from his love of 
seeing everything in order, though he often carries it to 
an almost ridiculous extent, but in other matters he is 
quite right in pleasing himself. I know he is not very 
popular, because he has managed to accumulate a fort¬ 
une, and still continues to do a good stroke of business 
every now and then; but he only laughs at what people 
say about him. They say nasty things, too, of him 
about me. But all that is quite untrue. I am entirely 
free. He certainly prefers to find me here when he 
comes home, instead of knowing that I am always off 
somewhere, paying calls and walking on the promenade. 
What, indeed, should I go out for?” 


100 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/INS 


As she defended Mouret against the gossip of Plassans, 
her tones assumed a sudden animation as though she felt 
the need of defending him quite as much from the secret 
accusations which formulated themselves within her own 
mind; and she kept reverting with nervous uneasiness to 
the subject of life outside her own home; she seemed 
to seek a refuge within the narrow dining-room and the 
old-fashioned garden with its hedges of box, appearing 
: full of a vague alarm of she knew not what, and doubt¬ 
ful of her strength and fearing some possible catastro¬ 
phe. Then she would smile at her own childish fears, 
and shrug her shoulders as she resumed her knitting or 
the mending of some old shirt; and the Abbd Faujas 
would see before him only a cold, reserved house-wife, 
with listless face and inanimate eyes, who seemed to fill 
the house with a scent of clean linen and the soft per¬ 
fume of blossoms gathered in the shade. 

Two months passed away in this manner. The Abbd 
Faujas and his mother had become quite part of the 
regular family-life of the Mourets; they all had their 
recognized places every evening at the table, just as the 
lamp had its, and the same intervals of silence were 
broken night after night by the same remarks of the 
card-players, and the same subdued tones of the priest 
and Marthe. When Madame Faujas had not given him 
too tremendous a beating, Mouret found his lodgers 
extremely nice people. 

"Oh! don’t bother me with your stories!” he used to 
exclaim to those who attacked the Abb6 Faujas. "You 
get hold of a lot of ridiculous nonsense and put absurd 
interpretations upon facts that admit of the simplest 
explanation. He’s not a man who makes himself cheap, 
and I can quite understand that people don’t like him 
for it and accuse him of pride." 

Mouret greatly enjoyed being the only person in Plas- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


101 


sans who could boast of knowing the Abbd Faujas, and 
he even somewhat abused this advantage. Every time 
he met Madame Rougon he put on an air of triumph, 
and made her understand that he had stolen her guest 
from her, while the old lady contented herself with smil¬ 
ing quietly. 

The evenings passed away one after another, and the 
first days of February had come round. In all the con¬ 
versations between himself and Marthe, the Abbd Faujas 
had appeared carefully to avoid the subject of religion. 
She had once remarked to him, almost lightly: 

“No, your reverence, I am not a very religious woman 
and I seldom go to church. At Marseilles I was always 
too busy and now I am too indolent to go out. And 
then I must confess to you that I wasn’t brought up with 
religious ideas. My mother used to tell me that God 
would come to us quite as well at home.” 

The priest bowed his head without making any reply, 
and seemed to signify that he would rather not discuss 
such matters under such circumstances. One evening, 
however, he drew a picture of the unexpected comfort 
which suffering souls find in religion. They were talk¬ 
ing of a poor woman whom troubles of every sort had 
driven to suicide. 

“She was wrong to despair,” said the priest in his deep 
voice. “She was ignorant of the comfort and consolation 
to be found in prayer. I have often seen heart-broken, 
weeping women come to us, and they have gone away 
again, filled with a resignation that they had vainly 
sought elsewhere, and glad to live; and this had come 
from their falling upon their knees and tasting the bless¬ 
edness of humiliating themselves before God in some 
quiet corner of the church. They returned, forgetting all 
their old troubled life, and became God’s entirely.” 

Marthe listened with a thoughtful expression to these 


102 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


remarks of the priest, whose last words were spoken in 
a gradually softened tone that seemed to breathe of a 
superhuman felicity. 

”Yes, it must be a blessed thing,” she murmured as 
though she were speaking to herself; "I have thought 
about it sometimes, but I have always felt afraid.” 

The Abb6 very seldom referred to such subjects as this, 
but he frequently spoke on the subject of charity. Mar- 
the was very tender-hearted, and the tears rose to her 
eyes at the slightest tale of trouble. It seemed to please 
the priest to see her so moved to pity; and every even¬ 
ing he told her some fresh story of sorrow. She would 
let her work fall and clasp her hands as, with a sad and 
pitying face, she gazed into his eyes and listened to him 
as he poured out to her the heart-rending details of how 
some poor wretched persons had died of starvation, or 
of how others had been goaded by misery into commit¬ 
ting base crimes. At these times she fell completely 
under his influence, and he might have done with her 
what he willed. At the other end of the table, in the 
meantime, there would every now and then break out a 
noisy disagreement between Mouret and Madame Faujas 
on some contested point in the game. 

About the middle of February, a deplorable circum¬ 
stance threw Plassans into a state of painful dismay. It 
was discovered that a number of quite young girls, 
scarcely more than children, had fallen into wicked ways 
in loafing about the streets, and it was not only with 
lads of their own age and position that they had gone 
wrong, but it was rumored that persons highly placed in 
the town would be compromised. For a week Marthe 
was very painfully affected by this discovery, which 
caused the greatest sensation. She was acquainted with 
one of the unfortunate girls, a fair-haired girl whom she 
had often caressed, and who was the niece of her cook, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSS4NS 


103 


Rose; and she said that she could not think about the 
poor little creature without shuddering all over. 

“It is a great pity,” said the Abbd Faujas to her one 
evening, “that there isn’t a Home at Plassans on the 
model of the one at Besancon.” 

In reply io Marthe’s pressing questions, the Abb6 ex¬ 
plained to her the constitution of this Home. It was a 
sort of refuge for girls from eight to fifteen years old, 
the daughters of working-men, whose parents were 
obliged to leave them during the day to go to their em¬ 
ployment. During the day-time these girls were set to 
do needlework, and in the evening they were sent back 
to their parents. By this system the children were 
brought up out of the reach of all vice and in the midst 
of the best examples. Marthe thought the idea an ex¬ 
tremely good one, and she gradually became so prepos¬ 
sessed with it that she could talk about nothing else than 
the necessity of founding a similar institution at Plas¬ 
sans. 

• “We might put it under the patronage of the Virgin,” 
the Abb£ Faujas suggested. “But there are such diffi¬ 
culties in the way! What is quite essential to its suc¬ 
cess is some woman with a motherly heart, full of zeal 
and absolutely devoted to the work.” 

Marthe drooped her head and looked at D£sir£e, who 
was asleep by her side, and she felt the tears welling 
from beneath her eyelids. She made inquiries as to 
the steps that it would be necessary to take for founding 
such a Home, the cost of constructing it, and the annual 
expenses. 

“Will you help me?” she suddenly asked the priest one 
evening. 

The Abbd Faujas gravely took her hand and held it 
within his own for a moment, while he told her that she 
had one of the fairest souls he had ever known. He 


104 


THE CONQUEST OF PI ASS A NS . 


would willingly do what he could, he told her, but he 
said that he should rely altogether upon her, for the 
assistance that he himself would be able to give would 
be very small. It would be for her to form a committee 
of the ladies of the town, to collect subscriptions, and 
to take upon herself, in a word, all the delicate and oner¬ 
ous duties connected with an appeal to the charity of the 
public. He appointed a meeting with her for the fol¬ 
lowing day at Saint-Saturnin's to introduce her to the 
diocesan architect, who would be able to tell her much 
better than he himself could do about the expenses that 
would have to be incurred. 

Mouret was very gay that evening as they went to 
bed. He had not allowed Madame Faujas to win a sin¬ 
gle game. 

“You seem quite pleased about something to-night, my 
dear,” he said to his wife. “Did you see what a beat¬ 
ing I gave the old lady downstairs? ’ 

As he observed Marthe taking a silk dress out of her 
wardrobe, he asked her with some surprise if she was 
intending to go out in the morning. 

“Yes,” she replied, “I have to go out. I have to meet 
the Abb6 Faujas at the church about a matter which I 
will tell you of.” 

He stood motionless in front of her, and gazed at her 
with an expression of stupefaction to see if she was not 
really mocking him. Then, without any appearance 
of displeasure, he said in his bantering fashion: 

“Hallo! hallo! well I never expected that! So you've 
gone over to the priests now!” 


VIII 


The next morning Marthe began by going to see her 



THE CONQUEST OF P LASS A NS 


105 


mother, and she explained to her the pious undertak¬ 
ing which she was contemplating. She felt a little an¬ 
noyed as the old lady smilingly shook her head, and she 
let her see that she considered her lacking in charity. 

“It is one of the Abb6 Faujas’ ideas, isn't it?” Fe¬ 
licity asked suddenly. 

“Yes,” Marthe replied in surprise: “we have talked a 
good deal about it together. But how did you know?” 

Madame Rougon shrugged her shoulders slightly with¬ 
out vouchsafing any more definite reply. Then she con¬ 
tinued with a show of animation: 

“Well, my dear, I think you are quite right. You ought 
to have some kind of occupation, and you have found a 
very good one. But you mustn’t count upon my assist¬ 
ance. I had rather not appear in the matter, for people 
would say that it was I who was really doing everything, 
and that we had come to an understanding together to 
try and force our ideas upon the town. I should prefer 
that you yourself should have all the credit of your 
charitable inspiration. I will help you with my advice, 
if you will let me, but with nothing more.” 

“I was hoping that you would join the committee,” 
said Marthe, who was feeling a little alarmed at the 
thought of finding herself alone in such an onerous un¬ 
dertaking. 

“No! no! my presence on it would only do harm, I 
can assure you. Make it well known, on the contrary, 
that I am not going to be on the committee, that I have 
been asked, and have refused, excusing myself on the 
ground that 1 am too much occupied. Let it be under¬ 
stood, even, that 1 have no faith in your scheme; and 
that, you will see, will decide the ladies at once. Go 
and see Madame Rastoil, Madame de Condamin, Ma¬ 
dame Delangre, and Madame Paloque. Be sure to see 
Madame Paloque; she will feel flattered, and will help 


106 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


you more than all the others. If you find any difficulty 
about anything come here again and tell me. 1 ' 

She went out of the room with her daughter to the 
head of the stairs; then she stopped and looked her in 
the face, saying with her sharp, old woman’s smile; 

“I hope the dear Abbd keeps well?” 

“Yes, he is very well,” replied Marthe. "I am going 
to Saint-Saturnin’s, where I am to meet the diocesan 
architect.” 

Marthe and the priest had considered that matters 
were in too indefinite a stage for them to interfere with 
the architect’s arrangements, and so they had planned 
just to meet him at Saint-Saturnin’s, where he came 
every day to inspect a chapel that happened to be under 
repair at the time. It would seem like a chance meet¬ 
ing. When Marthe walked up the church, she caught 
sight of the Abbd Faujas and Monsieur Lieutaud talk¬ 
ing together on some scaffolding, from which they a 
once came down upon seeing her. 

The conversation lasted for a good half-hour. The 
architect showed much kindly interest in the scheme. 
He advised them, however, not to erect a special build¬ 
ing for the Home of the Virgin, as the Abbd called the 
projected refuge. It would cost too much money, he 
thought; and it would be better, he said, to buy some 
building already in existence, and adapt it to suit the 
requirements of their scheme. He suggested a house in 
the suburbs which had formerly been used as a boarding- 
school, and which was now for sale. A few thousand 
francs would enable him to entirely restore it from its 
present ruined condition. 

‘‘That is settled then,” said Marthe, as she took leave 
of the architect. ‘‘You will make a little estimate, so 
that we may know what we are about? And please keep 
our secret, will you?” 


TEE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


107 


The Abbd Faujas went with her as far as the side 
door of the church. As they passed together before the 
high-altar, while she was still engaged in briskly talking 
to him, she was suddenly surprised to miss him from her 
side. She turned round to look for him and she saw 
him bent almost double before the great cross in its 
muslin veil. She recollected where she was, and glanced 
round her with an uneasy expression and trod as silently 
as she could. When they reached the door, the Abbd 
who had become very grave and serious, silently reached 
out to her his finger, which he had dipped in the holy 
water,and she crossed herself in great disquietude of 
mind. Then the muffled double-doors fell back softly 
behind her with a sound like a suppressed sigh. 

From the church Marthe went to Madame de Conda- 
min’s. She felt quite happy as she walked through the 
streets in the fresh air; the few visits that she had now 
to make seemed to her almost like pleasure-parties. 
Madame de Condamin welcomed her with effusive kind¬ 
liness, and expressed her delight at seeing that dear 
Madame Mouret who came so seldom. When she learned 
the business on hand, she declared herself delighted with 
it, and quite ready to devote herself in every way to 
furthering it. She was wearing a lovely mauve dress, 
with knots of pearl-gray ribbon, in that pretty boudoir 
of hers where she played the part of the exiled Parisian. 

When Marthe told her that her mother could not join 
the committee she manifested a still greater enthusiasm 
for the scheme. 

"It is a great pity that she has so many things to do,” 
she said with a touch of irony; “she would have been 
of such great assistance to us. But it can’t be helped. 
I have plenty of friends. I will go and see the bishop. 
I’ll promise you that we shall succeed.” 

She would not listen to any of the details of the alter- 


108 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


ations or the expenses. She was quite sure, she said, 
that whatever money was wanted would be found, and 
she meant the Home to be a credit to the committee, and 
that every part of it should be as handsome and comfort¬ 
able as possible. She added with a laugh that she 
quite lost her head if she began to dabble in figures; 
but she undertook to specially charge herself with the 
preliminary steps and the general furtherance of the 
scheme. Dear Madame Mouret, she said, was not accus¬ 
tomed to begging, and she would go with her on her 
visits and would take several of them off her hands alto¬ 
gether. By the end of a quarter of an hour she had 
made the business entirely her own, and it was now she 
who was giving instructions to Marthe. The latter was 
just about to take her leave when Monsieur de Condamin 
came into the room; and she lingered on, feeling ill at 
ease and not daring to say any more on the subject of 
her visit in the presence of the conservator of rivers and 
forests, who, it was rumored, was compromised in the 
matter of the poor girls with whose shameful story the 
town was ringing. 

Madame de Condamin, however, explained the great 
scheme to her husband, who manifested the most perfect 
ease, and gave utterance to the most moral sentiments. 

“It is an idea which could only have occurred to a 
mother,” he said gravely, in tones which made it impos¬ 
sible to know whether he was serious or not. “Plassans 
will be indebted to you, madame, for a purer morality." 

“But I must tell you that the idea is not my own ! I 
have merely adopted it,” Marthe replied, made uneasy 
by these praises. “It was suggested to me by a person 
whom I esteem very highly.” 

“Who?” asked Madame de Condamin, with a show of 
curiosity. 

“The Abbd Faujas. ” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


109 


Then Marthe with great frankness, told them the high 
opinion she held of the priest, and she represented him 
as a man worthy of the highest respect, whom she was 
very happy to have live in her house. Madame de Con- 
damin listened with approving little nods of her head. 

“I have always said so!” she exclaimed. “The Abbd 
Faujas is a very distinguished priest. But there are such 
a lot of malicious people about! The idea, you say, is 
his. We shall have to persuade him to take a promi¬ 
nent part in putting it into execution. I can assure you 
that I always liked and defended the Abbd. ” 

"I have talked with him, and I thought him a very 
good fellow,” the conservator of rivers and forests in¬ 
terposed. 

His wife silenced him with a gesture. By this time, 
Monsieur de Condamin alone bore all the shame of the 
equivocal marriage which he was charged with having 
made; the young woman, whom he had brought from 
no one knew where, had succeeded in getting herself 
pardoned and liked by all on account of her pleasant ways 
and taking looks, to which provincial folks are more 
susceptible than might be imagined. 

"I will leave you,” he said with a slight touch of irony, 
“to your good designs. Octavie, don’t forget to be 
dressed in good time. We are going this evening, you 
know, to the Sub-Prefecture.” 

After he had left the room, the two women resumed 
their conversation for a few moments longer. Madame 
de Condamin inveighed eloquently against vice. 

"Well, then!" she said, as she pressed Marthe’s hand 
for a last time, "it is all settled, and I am entirely at 
your service as soon as you call for my help. If you go 
to see Madame Rastoil and Madame Delangre, tell them 
that I will undertake to do everything and that all we 
want from them is their names. My idea is a good 


110 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


one, don’t you think? We won’t depart a hairbreadth 
from it. Give my kindest regards to the Abb6 Faujas. ” 

Marthe at once proceeded to call upon Madame Del- 
angre, and then upon Madame Rastoil. She found them 
both very polite but less enthusiastic than Madame de 
Condamin. They discussed the pecuniary side of the 
scheme. A large sum of money would be required, they 
said, and the charity of the public would certainly never 
provide it, and there was a great risk of the whole busi¬ 
ness coming to a ridiculous termination. Marthe tried 
to reassure them and plied them with figures. Then 
they asked her what ladies had consented to join the 
committee. The mention of Madame de Condamin’s 
name left them without a word to say, and when they 
learned that Madame Rougon had excused herself from 
joining, they became more favorably minded. 

Madame Delangre had received Marthe in her hus¬ 
band’s study. She was a tame little woman of a serv¬ 
ant-like meekness, whose intrigues had remained a mat¬ 
ter of legend in Plassans. 

“Indeed,” she ended by saying, “there is nothing I 
should like to see better. It would be a school of virtue 
for the youth of the working-classes, and it would be the 
means of saving many weak souls. I cannot refuse my 
assistance, for I feel quite sure I can be of much use 
from the fact that my husband, as mayor, is brought into 
continual contact with all the most influential people. 
But I must ask you to give me till to-morrow before I 
make a definite reply. Our position requires us to ex¬ 
ercise the greatest circumspection, and I should like to 
consult Monsieur Delangre.” 

In Madame Rastoil, Marthe found a woman who was 
very listless and prudish, searching about for words of 
excessive propriety in her references to the unfortunate 
girls. She was a sleek, plump person and was em- 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


111 


broidering a very gorgeous alb, sitting between her two 
daughters, when Marthe entered the room; but she had 
sent the girls away at her visitor’s first words. 

“I ami much obliged to you for having thought about 
me,” she said; “but really I am very much occupied. I 
am already on several committees and I don’t know 
whether I should have the time. I have had some such 
an idea as your own myself, but my scheme was a larger 
one, and perhaps more complete and comprehensive. 
For a whole month I have been intending to go and talk 
to the bishop about it, but I have never been able to find 
the time. Well! we will unite our efforts, and I will 
tell you my own views, for I think you are making a 
mistake in some points. As it seems necessary, I will 
surrender still more of my time. It was only yesterday 
that my husband said to me: ‘Really you never attend 
to your own affairs; you are always looking after other 
people’s.’ ” 

Marthe glanced at her curiously, thinking of her old 
entanglement with Monsieur Delangre, which was still 
chuckled over in the cafds of the Cours Sauvaire. The 
wives of the mayor and the president had received the 
mention of the Abbd Faujas’ name very suspiciously, 
the latter especially so. Marthe was, indeed, a little 
vexed at this exhibition of distrust of a person for 
whom she vouched; and so she made a point of dwelling 
upon the Abbd’s good qualities, and forced the two wo¬ 
men to acknowledge the merit of this priest who lived 
a life of retirement and supported his mother. 

When she left Madame Rastoil’s, Marthe had only to 
cross the road to get to Madame Paloque’s, who lived 
on the other side of the Rue Balande. It was seven 
o’clock, but she was anxious to get this last call paid, 
even if she had to keep Mouret waiting and get herself 
scolded in consequence. The Paloques were just going 


112 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/tNS 


to sit down to table in a chilly dining-room, whose 
prim coldness and formal neatness spoke of the provinces. 
Madame Paloque hastened to put back the lid upon the 
soup-tureen, from which she had just begun to serve, 
vexed at being thus found at table. She was very po¬ 
lite, humble almost, though she was really feeling much 
put-out by a visit which she had not expected. Her 
husband, the judge, sat before his empty plate with his 
hands upon his knees. 

"The little hussies!” he exclaimed, when Marthe spoke 
of the girls of the old quarter of the town. "I have 
been hearing some nice accounts of them to-day in 
court. It was they who led on and enticed some of our 
most respectable towns-people. You are wrong, madame, 
to interest yourself in such vermin.” 

"I am very much afraid,” Madame Paloque said in her 
turn, "that I cannot be of any assistance to you. I know 
no one, and my husband would cut his hand off rather 
than beg for the smallest trifle. We live here very 
quietly and modestly, quite happy to be forgotten and 
let alone. Even if promotion were offered to my hus¬ 
band now, he would refuse it. Wouldn’t you, my dear?" 

The judge nodded his head in assent. They both 
exchanged a slight smile, while Marthe sat ill at ease 
in the presence of these two hideous faces, seamed and 
livid with gall and bitterness, whose owners played so 
well into each other’s hands in this little comedy of 
feigned resignation. Fortunately she called to mind 
her mother’s counsels. 

"I had quite counted upon you,” she said, making her¬ 
self very pleasant. "We shall have Madame Delangre, 
Madame Rastoil, and Madame de Condamin; but, be¬ 
tween ourselves, these ladies will only give us their 
names. I should have liked to find some lady of good 
position and kindly, charitable disposition, who would 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


113 


have taken a stronger interest and shown more energy 
in the matter, and I thought that you would be the 
very person. Think what gratitude Plassans will owe 
us if we can only bring such an undertaking to a success¬ 
ful issue!” 

‘‘Of course, of course! ” Madame Paloque murmured, 
quite delighted at Marthe’s insinuating words. 

"I am sure you are wrong in fancying that you are 
without any power to assist us. It is very well known 
that Monsieur Paloque is a great favorite at the Sub- 
Prefecture; and between ourselves I may say that he is 
intended to succeed Monsieur Rastoil. This would be 
a very good opportunity for Madame Paloque to emerge 
a little from the obscurity and privacy in which she 
keeps herself, and to let the world see the head and the 
heart she has got.” 

The judge seemed to be much exercised in mind. He 
looked at his wife with his blinking eyes. 

“Madame Paloque has not refused,” he said. 

“No, certainly not,” interposed the latter. “If you 
really stand in need of me, that settles the matter. I 
dare say I am only going to be guilty of another piece 
of folly, and give myself a lot of trouble without ever 
getting a word of thanks for it. Well, well, we can’t 
change ourselves, and I suppose we shall go on being 
dupes to the end! You may count upon me, my dear 
madame. ” 

The Paloques rose and Marthe took leave of them, 
thanking them for their kindly interest. 

When Marthe at last got back home, it was nearly 
eight o’clock. Mouret had been waiting for a whole 
half-hour for his dinner, and she was afraid that there 
would be a terrible scene. But, when she had undressed 
and came downstairs, she found her husband sitting 
astride an over-turned chair tranquilly beating a tattoo 
8 


114 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


on the table-cloth with his fingers. He was terribly full 
of teasing and banter. 

‘'Well,” he said, “I had quite made up my mind that 
that you were going to spend the night in a confessional- 
box. Now that you have taken to going to church, you 
had better give me notice when you are invited by the 
priests, so that I can dine out.” 

All through the dinner he indulged in pleasantries and 
witticisms of this kind, and Marthe was much more dis¬ 
tressed by them than if he had openly stormed at her. 
During dessert Rose came into the room, looking quite 
scared, and said that Monsieur Delangre had come and 
wanted to see madame. 

“Hallo! have you begun to associate with the authori¬ 
ties as well?” Mouret sniggered in his sneering fashion. 

Marthe went into the drawing-room to receive the 
mayor’s visit. With much polite courtesy the latter 
told her that he had felt unwilling to wait till the next 
day to come and congratulate her upon her charitable 
and noble idea. Madame Delangre was a little timid, 
and he had come now to say in her name that she would 
be delighted to serve on the committee of lady patron¬ 
esses of the Home of the Virgin. As for himself, he 
would certainly do all he could to further the success of 
a scheme that would be so useful and so conducive to 
morality. 

Marthe accompanied him to the street-door. There 
as Rose held up the lamp to light the foot-path, the 
mayor added: 

“Will you tell the Abb6 Faujas that I shall be glad to 
have a little conversation with him, if he will kindly 
come and see me? As he has had experience of an 
establishment of this kind at Besancon, he will be able 
to give me some valuable information. I mean the town 
to pay at any rate the building expenses. Good-bye, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


115 


dear madame; give my best compliments to Monsieur 
Mouret, whom I won’t disturb just now.” 

When the Abb£ Faujas came down with his mother 
at eight o’clock, Mouret merely said to him, with a 
laugh: 

“So you walked off my wife to-day, eh? Well, don’t 
spoil her for me too much, and don’t make a saint of 
her. ” 

Then he absorbed himself in the game. He was going 
to engage in a terrible struggle with Madame Faujas, 
who was burning for revenge after suffering defeat for 
three evenings; and so Marthe was left quite free to tell 
the Abb6 all she had done during the day. She seemed 
full of a child-like pleasure and was quite excited with 
the afternoon she had spent out. The Abb6 made her 
repeat certain details and he promised to go and see 
Monsieur Delangre, although he would have preferred 
remaining completely in the background. 

‘‘You were wrong to mention my name at all,” he said, 
as he saw her so excited and unreserved; "but you are 
like all other women, and the best causes would be spoilt 
in your hands. 

She looked at him in surprise at this blunt exclama¬ 
tion, feeling that thrill of fear which she still occasion¬ 
ally experienced in the presence of his cassock. Every 
priest looks upon woman as an enemy, but when the 
Abb6 saw that she was hurt by his too stern reproof, he 
softened his tones and said: 

“I think only of the success of your noble design. I 
am afraid that I should only compromise it, if I myself 
were to appear in it. You know very well that I am 
not a favorite in the town. 

Marthe, seeing him so humble, assured him that he was 
mistaken and that all the ladies had spoken of him in the 
highest terms. Then they talked over the great scheme, 


116 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

dwelling on the smallest details, till eleven o'clock 
struck. It had been a delightful evening. 

Mouret had caught a word or two now and then be¬ 
tween the deals. 

“Well, then," he said, as they were going to bed, "so 
you two are going to do away with vice? It's a splendid 
idea. ” 

Three days later the committee of lady patronesses 
was formally constituted. The ladies having elected 
Marthe as president, she, upon her mother’s advice, 
which she had privately sought, immediately appointed 
Madame Paloque treasurer. They both gave themselves 
a great deal of trouble in directing circulars and looking 
after a host of other little details. In the meantime, 

• Madame de Condamin had gone from the Sub-Prefect¬ 
ure to the bishop’s, and from the bishop’s to the houses 
of various other influential persons, explaining in her 
pretty fashion “the happy idea that had occurred to 
her,” exhibiting some lovely toilettes, and carrying off 
subscriptions and promises of assistance. Madame 
Rastoil, on the other hand, told the priests who came to 
her house on the Tuesday how she had formed a plan 
of rescuing the unfortunate girls from vice, and then 
contented herself by charging the Abb£ Bourrette to 
make inquiries of the Sisters of Saint-Joseph if they 
would be willing to come and serve in the projected 
refuge; while Madame Delangre confided to the little 
company of functionaries that the town was indebted 
for the Home to her husband, to whose kindness the 
committee already owed a room in the City Hall, where 
they could meet and deliberate at their ease. Plassans 
was speedily excited throughout by this pious turmoil, 
and soon there was nothing spoken of but the Home of 
the Virgin. There was an outburst of praises, and the 
friends of each of the lady patronesses made up a little 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


117 


party of their own, each little party working strenuously 
for the success of the undertaking. Subscription lists 
were opened in all the three quarters of the town with¬ 
in a week, and as the “Plassans Gazette” published these 
lists with the amount of the subscriptions, a feeling of 
pride was awakened, and the most notable families 
contended with each other as to which should be the 
most generous. 

In the midst of all the talk on the subject Abb6 Fau- 
jas’ name frequently cropped up. Although each of the 
lady patronesses claimed the idea as originally her own, 
there was a prevailing belief that it was the Abb6 who 
had brought it with him from Besancon. Monsieur De- 
langre made an express statement to this effect to the 
municipal council at the meeting when they voted the 
purchase of the building which the diocesan architect 
had suggested as being most suited to the requirements 
of the Home. The previous evening the mayor had had 
a very lengthy conversation with the priest, and as they 
parted they had exchanged a prolonged grasp of the 
hand. The mayor’s secretary had even heard them call 
each other "my dear sir.” This brought about quite a 
revolution in the Abba’s favor. From that time he had 
a group of partisans who defended him against the at¬ 
tacks of his enemies. 

"Well, your reverence,” Mouret said to him with a 
laugh, "you are quite in the odor of sanctity now. One 
would scarcely think that not six months ago I was the 
only one to say a good word for you! But if I were you 
I shouldn’t trust too much to it all; you have still the 
bishop’s set against you.” 

The priest shrugged his shoulders slightly. He knew 
quite well that the hostility he still met with came 
from the clergy. The Abb<§ Fenil kept Monseigneur Rous- 
selot trembling beneath the rough strength of his will. 


118 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


When the former, about the end of March, left Plas- 
sans to make a short journey, the Abb£ Faujas profited 
by his absence to make several calls upon the bishop. 
The Abb6 Surin, the bishop’s private secretary, reported 
that that “wretched man” had been closeted for hours 
together with his lordship, and that the latter had man¬ 
ifested an atrocious temper after the interview. When 
the Abb£ Fenil returned, the Abb4 Faujas discontinued 
his visits, and again suppressed himself in the former’s 
presence. But the bishop still showed himself very 
much disturbed, and it was quite evident that something 
had occurred to upset the careless prelate’s ease of mind. 
At a dinner which he gave to his clergy he showed him¬ 
self particularly friendly to the Abbd Faujas, who was 
only an humble curate at Saint-Saturnin’s. 

The Abb6 Faujas now manifested a complete serenity. 
He still continued his severe life, but he seemed per¬ 
meated with a pleasant ease of mind. It was on a Tues¬ 
day evening that he triumphed definitively. He was 
looking out of the window of his own room, enjoying 
the early warmth of the spring, when Monsieur Pequeur 
des Saulaies’ guests came into the garden and bowed 
to him from the distance. Madame de Condamin was 
there, and she carried her familiarity so far as to wave 
her handkerchief to him. Just at the same time, on 
the other side, Monsieur Rastoil’s guests came to sit on 
some rustic seats in front of the water-fall. Monsieur 
Delangre was able to look from the terrace of the Sub- 
Prefecture across Mouret’s garden, and to see what was 
going on in the judge’s grounds, owing to the difference 
of the levels. 

“You will see," he said, “that they won’t deign even 
to notice him." 

But he was wrong. The Abb<§ Fenil, having turned 
his head as though by chance, took off his hat, and 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


119 


then all the other priests who were there did the same, 
and the Abbd Faujas returned their salute. Then, after 
having glanced slowly over the two sets of guests on 
his right hand and on his left, he withdrew from the 
window and pulled together the white curtains with 
scrupulous exactitude. 


IX 

The month of April was very mild and warm, and 
in the evenings, after dinner, the young Mourets went 
to amuse themselves in the garden. Marthe and the 
priest too, as they found the dining-room becoming 
very close, also went out onto the terrace. They sat 
a few yards away from the window, which was kept wide 
open, just outside the stream of bright light which the 
lamp poured out onto the tall hedges of box. There, 
in the deepening dusk, they discussed all the little de¬ 
tails connected with the Home of the Virgin. 

Sometimes Marthe, full of a tender emotion and pen¬ 
etrated with a gentle languor that made her words fall 
slowly from her lips, would check her speech as she 
caught sight of the golden train of some shooting-star, 
and smile as she leaned her head back a little and looked 
up at the heavens. 

“There’s another soul leaving purgatory and entering 
paradise!" she murmured. 

Then as the priest kept silent, she added: 

“How pretty they are, these little beliefs! One ought 
to be always able to remain a little girl, your reverence. '* 

She no longer now mended the family linen in the 
evenings. She would have had to light a lamp on the 
terrace to be able to see to do it, and she preferred the 



120 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 



dusky shadow of the warm night, which seemed to thrill 
her with a peaceful happiness; and, besides, she now 
went out every day, which fatigued her, and when dinner 
was over she did not feel energetic enough to take up 
her needle. Rose had been obliged to undertake the 
mending, as Mouret was beginning to complain that his 
socks were all in holes. 

Marthe was, indeed, very busy. Besides the meetings 
of the committee over which she presided, she had nu¬ 
merous other things to attend to, visits to make, and 
superintendence to exercise. She deputed much of the 
necessary writing and other little matters to Madame 
Paloque; but she was so anxious and eager to see the 
Home actually established and in working order, that 
she went off to the suburb in which the building was 
situated three times a week, to make sure that the work¬ 
men were not wasting their time. When she thought 
that satisfactory progress was not being made, she hur¬ 
ried off to Saint-Saturnin’s to find the architect, and 
grumbled to him and begged him not to leave the men 
without his supervision. Monsieur Lieutaud smiled, and 
assured her that everything would be completed within 
the stipulated time. 

The Abb£ Faujas, too, protested that sufficient progress 
was not being made, and he urged Marthe not to give 
the architect a moment’s peace, and so she ended by 
going to Saint-Saturnin’s every day. She went into the 
church with her brain full of figures, and preoccupied 
with the consideration of walls that had to be pulled 
down and rebuilt. The chilliness of the church cooled 
down her excitement a little. She dipped her fingers in 
the holy water and crossed herself to do as the people 
did. The vergers grew to know her and bow to her, and 
she herself became quite familiar with the different chap¬ 
els and the sacristy, where she sometimes had to go to 


I 

( 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS A NS 12L 

find the Abb£ Faujas, and the wide corridor and low 
cloisters through which she had to pass. At the end of 
a month there was not a corner in Saint-Saturnin’s which 
she did not know well. She began to love the lofty 
arches and the solemn nakedness of the walls, the altars 
draped in their protecting covers, and the chairs all 
arranged in order; and as soon as the muffled double 
doors swung to behind her, she began to experience a 
feeling of supreme restfulness, a forgetfulness of all the 
weary cares of the world, and a perfect peace through¬ 
out her whole being. 

“Saint-Saturnin’s is such a pleasant place," she let 
slip one evening before her husband, after a close, sultry 
day. 

"Would you like us to go and sleep there?” Mouret 
asked, with a laugh. 

The Abb6 Faujas manifested no consciousness of the 
slow awakening which was every day increasingly going 
on within her. Sometimes, however, she would catch 
him as he was going to read the burial office; and he 
would speak to her for a moment between a couple of 
pillars in his surplice, that breathed out a vague odor of 
incense and wax tapers. The priest would hurry away 
to accompany the funeral; while she stayed on there, 
lingering in the empty nave, where one of the vergers 
was extinguishing the candles. When the Abb6 Faujas, 
as he crossed the church with her, bowed before the 
high-altar, she had acquired the habit of bowing like¬ 
wise, at first out of a feeling of mere propriety, but after¬ 
ward the action had become mechanical, and she bowed 
when she was quite alone. Up to this time this act of 
reverence had comprised all her devotion. Two or three 
times she had come to the church on days of high func¬ 
tions, without having been previously aware of them; 
but when she saw that the church was full of worship- 


122 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


ers and heard the pealing of the organ, she hurried 
away, thrilled with a sudden fear and not daring to en¬ 
ter the door. 

“Well!” Mouret would frequently ask her with his 
sniggering laugh, “when do you mean to be confirmed?" 

He was perpetually bantering her, but she never re¬ 
plied to him, only fixing upon him the gaze of her eyes, 
in which a passing brightness glistened when he went 
too far. By degrees he became more bitter as he grew 
tired of mocking at her. 

“What sense is there in going and mixing yourself up 
with a lot of priests?” he would growl at times when 
his dinner was not ready when he wanted it. “You are 
forever away from home now, and lhere’s no keeping you 
in the house for an hour at a time! I shouldn’t mind 
myself, if everything weren’t going to pieces here. I 
never get any of my things mended, the table is not even 
laid by seven o’clock, there’s no making anything out 
of Rose, and the whole house is left open to thieves.” 

He picked up a duster that was lying about, locked 
up a bottle of wine that had been left out, and began 
to wipe the dust off the furniture with his fingers, work 
ing himself up to a higher pitch of anger as he cried: 

“There’ll be nothing left for me soon but to take up a 
broom myself and put an apron on! Do you know that 
I spent a couple of hours this morning in putting this 
wardrobe in order? No, my good woman, things can’t go 
on any longer in this way!” 

At other times there was a disturbance about the chil¬ 
dren. Once when Mouret came home he found D£sir6e 
“wallowing like a young pig,” in the garden, where she 
was quite alone, and lying on her stomach before an ant- 
hole, trying to find out what the ants were doing in the 
ground. 

“We may be very thankful, I’m sure, that you don’t 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


123 


sleep away from the house as well!” he cried as soon as 
he caught sight of his wife. "Come and look at your 
daughter! I wouldn’t let her change her dress that you 
might see what a pretty sight she is.” 

The girl was crying bitterly while her father kept 
turning her round. 

When Rose had taken D£sir6e away, he continued: 

“You live now only for other people’s children. You 
can’t give a moment to your own! What a goose you 
must be to go knocking yourself up for a parcel of drabs 
who only laugh at you and have their clandestine meet¬ 
ings in every hole and corner of the ramparts!” 

He stopped to take breath and then went on again: 

“See that D6sir6e is properly taken care of before you 
go picking up girls from the gutter. One of these days 
we shall be finding her in the garden with a leg or an arm 
broken. I don’t say anything about Octave or Serge, 
though they are up to all kinds of diabolical tricks. Only 
yesterday they burst open a couple of flag-stones out on 
the terrace by letting off crackers. I tell you that if you 
don’t keep yourself at home we shall find the whole 
house blown to bits one of these days.” 

Marthe said a few words in self-defense. She was 
obliged to go out, she urged. There was no doubt that 
Mouret, who was possessed of an ample fund of com¬ 
mon sense, in spite of his proclivities for teasing and 
jeering, was right. The house was getting into a most 
unsatisfactory condition. In the evening, at table, the}' 
all dined badly and quarreled amongst themselves. Rose 
only did just what she liked, and she was of opinion, 
besides, that her mistress was quite in the right. 

Matters reached such a point at last that Mouret, hap¬ 
pening to meet his mother-in-law, complained to her bit¬ 
terly of Marthe’s conduct, although he was quite aware 


124 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


of the pleasure he was affording the old lady by discov¬ 
ering to her the troubles of his household. 

“You astonish me extremely!” Felicitd replied with a 
smile. “Marthe always seemed to me to be afraid of 
you, and I considered her even too yielding and obedi¬ 
ent*” 

“Ah, yes, indeed!” Mouret cried, with a hopeless look, 
“once she would have sunk into the ground to avoid a 
quarrel; a mere glance was sufficient, and she did every¬ 
thing I desired. But that’s all quite altered now. I 
may remonstrate and shout as much as I like, but she 
will only go her own way, for all that." 

Felicitd replied with some hypocrisy: 

“I will speak to Marthe if you like. But it might, 
perhaps, hurt her if I did. Matters of this kind are 
better confined between husband and wife. I don’t feel 
very uneasy about them; you’ll soon get back again, I’ve 
no doubt, all the quiet peacefulness of which you used 
to be so proud.” 

Mouret shook his head with downcast eyes. 

“No! no!” he said; “I know myself too well. I can 
make a noise, but that does no good. In reality I am 
as weak as a child. People are quite wrong in suppos¬ 
ing that I have had my own way with my wife by force. 
She has generally done what I wanted her to do, because 
she was quite indifferent about everything, and would as 
soon do one thing as another. Mild as she looks, she is 
very obstinate, I can tell you. Well, I must try to make 
the best of it.” 

When Marthe went to see her mother the next day, 
the latter received her with some demonstration of cold¬ 
ness, and said to her: 

“It is wrong of you, my dear, to show yourself so neg¬ 
lectful of your husband. I saw him yesterday and he is 
quite angry about it.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


125 


Marthe fixed her eyes upon her mother. 

"Ah! he has been complaining about me!” she said 
shortly. "The least he could do would be to be silent, for 
I never complain about him.” 

Then she began to talk of other matters, but Madame 
Rougon brought her back to the subject of her husband 
by asking about the Abb<§ Faujas. 

"Perhaps Mouret isn’t very fond of the Abb6, and so 
he finds fault with you in consequence. Is that so, do 
you think?” 

Marthe showed great surprise. 

"What an idea! ” she exclaimed. "What makes you 
think that my husband doesn’t like the Abb£ Faujas? 
He hasn’t said anything to you, has he? Oh no! you 
are quite mistaken. He would go and find them up in 
their own rooms, if the mother didn’t come down to 
have her game with him.” 

Mouret, indeed, never opened his mouth about the 
Abbd Faujas. He joked him a little bluntly sometimes, 
and he occasionally brought his name into the teasing 
banter with which he tormented his wife, but that was 
all. 

One morning, as he was shaving, he exclaimed to Mar¬ 
the: 

"I’ll tell you what, my dear; if ever you go to confes¬ 
sion, take the Abb6 for your director, and then your sins 
will, at any rate, be kept amongst ourselves.” 

The Abb6 Faujas heard confessions on Tuesdays and 
Fridays. On these days Marthe used to avoid going to 
Saint-Saturnin’s. She alleged that she did not want to 
disturb him; but she was really rather acting under the 
influence of that species of timid uneasiness which dis¬ 
quieted her when she saw him in his surplice that exhaled 
the mysterious odor of the sacristy. One Friday, she 
went with Madame de Condamin to see how the works 


126 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


at the Home of the Virgin were getting on. The men 
were just finishing the frontage. Madame de Condamin 
found fault with the ornamentation, which, she said, 
was mean and characterless. There ought to have been, 
she urged, two slender columns with a pointed arch, 
something that was at once light and religious-looking, 
a design that would be a credit to the committee of 
lady patronesses. Marthe hesitated for a time, but she 
gradually gave way before Madame de Condamin’s re¬ 
marks, and at last allowed that the design was a very 
poor one. Then as the latter pressed her, she promised 
to speak to Monsieur Lieutaud on the subject that very 
day. In order that she might keep her promise, she 
went to the cathedral before returning home. It was 
four o’clock when she got there, and the architect had 
just left. When she asked for the Abbd Faujas, a ver¬ 
ger told her that he was hearing confessions in the 
chapel of Saint Aurelia. Then for the first time she rec¬ 
ollected what day it was, and she said that she could 
not wait. But as she was passing the chapel of Saint 
Aurelia on her way out, she thought that the Abb^ might 
perhaps have caught sight of her. The truth was that 
she was feeling a singular faintness, and she sat down 
outside the chapel near the railing, and remained there. 
The sky was dusking over, and the church was filled with 
a misty gloom. Marthe had never before felt herself so 
completely overcome there. Her legs seemed to have 
lost all their strength, and her hands were so heavy that 
she clasped them across her knees to save herself from 
having to support their weight. Then everything around 
her appeared to vanish, and she was thrilled with a per¬ 
fect happiness in some strange, trance-like condition. 

The sound of a voice awoke her from this state of 
ecstasy. 


127 






THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 

"I am very sorry,” said the Abb6 Faujas; “I saw you 
but I could not get away.” 

Then she appeared to wake up with a start. She 
looked at him. He was standing before her in the dying 
light, in his surplice. His last penitent had just gone 
away, and the empty church seemed to be growing still 
more solemn. 

“You want to speak to me?” he asked. 

Marthe made an effort to recall her thoughts. 

“Yes,” she murmured; “but I can’t remember now. 
Ah yes! it is about the frontage, which Madame de Con- 
damin thinks too mean-looking. There ought to be two 
columns instead of that characterless opening. And they 
might put a pointed arch filled with stained glass. It 
would look very pretty. You understand what I mean, 
don’t you?” 

He gazed at her scrutinizingly, standing over her with 
his hands crossed outside his surplice, and bending down 
toward her his grave face. 

“It would entail additional expense, of course; but we 
might just have them of soft stone with a simple mold¬ 
ing. We might speak about it to the foreman, and he 
will tell us how much it will cost.” 

She drooped her head, as though she felt oppressed by 
the gaze that was bent upon her. When she raised it 
again and met the priest’s eyes, she clasped her hands 
together, after the manner of a child seeking pardon, 
and she burst into sobs. The priest allowed her to weep, 
still standing in silence in front of her. Then she fell 
on her knees before him, weeping behind her hands, 
with which she covered her face. 

“Get up, I beg of you,” the Abb£ Faujas said softly. 
“It is before God that you should go and kneel.” 

He helped her to rise and he sat down by her side. 
Then they talked together for a long time in low tones. 


128 


THE COhlQUEST OF PLASSANS 


The night had now fully fallen, and the golden specks 
of the lamps gleamed through the black depths of the 
church. The priest’s flowing words streamed out in 
long sequence after each of Marthe’s weak and broken 
replies; and when at last they rose, he seemed to be re¬ 
fusing her some favor which she was seeking with per¬ 
sistence; then leading her toward the door, he raised 
his voice as he said: 

"No! 1 cannot, I assure you I cannot. It would be 
better for you to take the Abbd Bourrette." 

"I am in great need of your advice,” Marthe mur¬ 
mured, beseechingly; "I think that with your help every¬ 
thing would be easy to me.” 

"You are mistaken, ” he replied, in harsher tones. "On 
the contrary, I fear that my direction would be preju¬ 
dicial to you to begin with. The Abb£ Bourrette is the 
priest you want, I can assure you. Later on, I may 
perhaps give you a different reply.” 

Marthe obeyed the priest’s injunctions, and the next 
day the worshipers at Saint-Saturnin’s were surprised to 
see Madame Mouret go and kneel before the Abbd Bour¬ 
rette’s confessional. Two days later there was nothing 
spoken of in Plassans but this conversion. The Abb6 Fau- 
jas’ name was pronounced with subtile smiles by certain 
people, but altogether the general impression was a good 
one and in favor of the Abb£. Madame Rastoil compli¬ 
mented Madame Mouret in open committee, and Madame 
Delangre professed to see in the matter a first blessing 
of God in reward to the lady patronesses for their good 
work in touching the heart of the only one amongst 
them who did not conform with the requirements of 
religion; while Madame de Condamin, taking Marthe 
aside, said to her: 

"You have done very rightly, my dear. What you 
have done is a necessity for a woman; and as soon as 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


129 


one begins to go out a little, it is necessary ^to go to 
church. ” 

The only matter of astonishment was her choice of 
the Abb£ Bourrette. The worthy man almost alto¬ 
gether confined himself to hearing the confessions of 
young girls. The ladies found him “so very uninterest¬ 
ing.” 

When Marthe came at the Thursday reception, her 
mother stepped up to meet her, and kissed her affection¬ 
ately with some ostentation before the company. She 
herself had made her peace with God on the morrow of 
the Coup d ’Etat. She was of opinion that the Abbd 
Faujas might now venture to show himself again in the 
green drawing-room; but he excused himself, making a 
pretext of his work and his love of privacy. Madame 
Rougon fancied she could see that he was scheming for 
a triumphal return in the following winter. The Abba’s 
success was gradually growing greater. For the first few 
months his only penitents had come from the vegetable 
market that was held at the back of the cathedral, poor 
costermongers, whose dialect he had quietly listened to 
without always being able to understand it; but now, 
he had a crowd of well-to-do oitizens* wives and daugh¬ 
ters dressed in silk kneeling before his confessional-box. 
When Marthe had quietly mentioned that he would not 
receive her amongst his penitents, Madame de Conda- 
min had a sudden whim, and she deserted her director, 
the senior curate of Saint-Saturnin’s, who was "greatly 
distressed thereby, and transferred her confessions to 
the Abbd Faujas. Such a distinction as this gave the 
latter a firm position in Plassans society. 

When Mouret learned that his wife went to confession, 
he merely said to her: 

“You have been doing something wrong lately, I sup- 


9 


130 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

pose, since you find if. necessary to go and tell all youf 
affairs to a parson?” 

From that time he never made any disparaging re¬ 
marks about the management of the house or scolded his 
wife in the presence of anyone, but professed himself, 
as he had been used to do, the happiest of men. For 
whole weeks he refrained from all jeering or fault-finding 
as far as she was concerned, while upon Rose and his 
children he constantly poured out his mocking diatribes. 

Previously he had only been economical, now he be¬ 
came miserly. 

“There is no sense,” he grumbled, “in spending money 
in the way we are doing. Pll be bound you are giving 
it all to those young hussies of yours. It’s quite suffi¬ 
cient for you to waste your time over them. Now listen 
to me, my dear. I will give you a hundred francs a 
month for housekeeping, and if you will persist in giv¬ 
ing money to these girls, who don’t deserve it, you must 
save it out of your dress.” 

He kept firmly to his word, and the very next month 
he refused to get Marthe a pair of boots on the pretext 
that it would disarrange his accounts, and that he had 
given her full notice and warning. One evening his 
wife found him weeping bitterly in their bedroom. All 
her kindness of heart was excited, and she clasped him 
in her arms and besought him to tell her what was dis¬ 
tressing him. But he tore himelf roughly from her, and 
told her that he was not crying, but that he had got a 
bad headache, and that it was that which made his eyes 
red. 

She felt much hurt. The next day Mouret affected 
great gayety; but some days afterward, when the Abbd 
Faujas and his mother came down-stairs after dinner, 
he refused to play his usual game of piquet. He did 
not feel clear-headed enough for it, he said. On the 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


131 


next few nights he made other excuses, and so the games 
were broken off, and everyone went out onto the terrace. 
Mouret seated himself in front of his wife and the Abb£, 
talking and doing all he could to speak as much and as 
frequently as possible; while Madame Faujas sat a few 
yards away in the shade, quite silent and still, with her 
hands upon her knees, like some legendary figure watching 
over a treasure with the stern fidelity of a crouching 
dog. 

“Fine evening!” Mouret used to say every night. “It 
is much pleasanter here than in the dining-room. It is 
very wise of you to come out and enjoy the fresh air. 
Ah! there’s a shooting-star! Did your reverence see it? 
Pve heard say that it’s Saint Peter lighting his pipe up 
yonder.” 

While he went chattering on in this way, the Abbd 
Faujas and Marthe merely spoke a few brief sentences 
in reply to his direct questions. Generally they sat 
apart from him with their faces raised to the sky and 
their eyes gazing out into space. One evening Mouret 
fell asleep. Then, inclining their heads toward each 
other, they began to talk in subdued tones; while some 
few yards away, Madame Faujas, with her hands upon 
her knees, and with her eyes open and her ears appar¬ 
ently on the strain, yet without seeing or hearing any¬ 
thing, seemed to be keeping guard for them. 


X 

The summer passed away, and the Abbd Faujas seemed 
in no hurry to derive any advantage from his increasing 
popularity. He still kept himself in seclusion at the 
Mourets’, and read his breviary as he walked slowly 
along, with downcast yes, through the whole length of 



132 


THE CONQUEST OF PL4SSANS 


the green arbor. Mouret, who used to watch him, at 
last became affected with a sort of vague impatience and 
irritation at seeing his black figure walking up and down 
for hours together behind his fruit-trees. 

"OneHias no privacy left!” he murmured to himself. 
“I can’t lift my eyes now without catching sight of 
that cassock! He is like a crow, that fellow there, with 
his round eye that always seems to be on the look-out 
and watch for something. I don’t believe in his fine 
disinterested airs.” 

It was not till early in September that the Home of 
the Virgin was completed. In the provinces the work¬ 
men are painfully slow; though it must be stated that 
the lady patronesses had twice quite upset Monsieur 
Lieutaud’s designs in favor of ideas of their own. 
When the committee took possession of the building they 
rewarded the architect for the complaisance he had man¬ 
ifested by lavishing upon him the highest praises. 
Everything seemed to them perfectly satisfactory. The 
rooms were large, the connections between the rooms ex¬ 
cellent, and there was a court-yard planted with trees and 
embellished with two small fountains. Madame de Con- 
damin was particularly charmed with the facade, which 
was one of her own ideas. Over the door, the words 
"Home of the Virgin” were carved in gold letters on a 
slab of black marble. 

On the occasion of the opening of the Home there was 
a very pleasing and affecting ceremony The bishop, 
attended by the chapter, came in person to install the 
Sisters of Saint Joseph, who had been authorized to work 
the institution. A troop of some fifty girls of from 
eight to fifteen years of age had been collected together 
from the streets of the old quarter of the town, and all 
that had been required from their parents to obtain their 
children’s admission was a declaration that their employ- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/tNS 


133 


ment made it necessary that they should be absent from 
home during the whole day. Monsieur Delangre made a 
speech which was much applauded. He explained at 
considerable length, in a magnificent style, the details 
and arrangements of this new refuge, which he called 
“the school of virtue and labor, where young and inter¬ 
esting creatures would be kept safe from wicked tempta¬ 
tions. ” A delicate allusion, toward the end of the speech, 
to the real author of the Home, the Abb£ Faujas, at¬ 
tracted much notice. The Abb£ was present amongst 
the other priests, and his fine, grave face remained per¬ 
fectly calm and tranquil when all eyes were turned upon 
him. Marthe blushed on the platform, where she was 
sitting in the midst of the lady patronesses. 

When the ceremony was over, the bishop expressed a 
desire to inspect the building in every detail; and, not¬ 
withstanding the evident annoyance of the Abbd Fenil, 
he sent for the Abb£ Faujas, whose great black eyes had 
never quitted him for a single moment, and requested 
him to be good enough to accompany him, adding, with 
a smile and in easily audible tones, that he was sure he 
could not find a better guide. This little speech was 
circulated amongst the departing spectators, and in the 
evening all Plassans was commenting upon the bishop’s 
favorable demeanor toward the Abbd Faujas. 

The committee of lady patronesses had reserved for 
themselves one of the rooms in the Home. Here they 
provided a collation for the bishop, who ate a biscuit 
and drank two sips of Malaga, while he found an oppor¬ 
tunity to say a polite word or two to each of them. 
This brought the pious festival to a happy conclusion, 
for both before and during the ceremony there had been 
heart-burnings and rivalries amongst the ladies, whom 
the delicate praises of Monseigneur Rousselot quite re¬ 
stored to good humor. When they were left to them- 


134 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


selves again, they declared that everything had gone off 
exceedingly well, and they were by no means backward 
in their eulogies of the bishop. Madame Paloque alone 
looked sour. The bishop had forgotten her when he was 
distributing his compliments. 

“You were right,” she said furiously to her husband, 
when she got home again; “I have just been made a 
convenience of in this silly nonsense of theirs! It’s a 
fine idea, indeed, to bring together all these corrupted 
hussies! I have given up all my time to them, and that 
great simpleton of a bishop, who trembles before his own 
clergy, can’t even say thank-you! Just as if that Mad¬ 
ame de Condamin had done anything, indeed! She is 
far too much occupied in showing off her dresses! Ah! 
we know quite sufficient about her, don’t we? And that 
Madame Delangre and Madame Rastoil, too—well, it 
wouldn’t be difficult to tell tales about them that would 
cover them with blushes! And they never stirred out of 
their drawing-rooms and haven’t taken half the trouble 
about the matter that I have! And then there’s that 
Madame Mouret, with her pretense of managing the 
whole business, and who does nothing but hang onto the 
cassock of her Abb6 Faujas! She’s another hypocrite of 
whom we shall hear pretty things one of these days! 
And they could all get a polite speech, while there 
wasn’t a word for me! I’m nothing but a mere conven¬ 
ience and they treat me like a dog! But things sha’n’t 
go on like this, Paloque, I can tell you. The dog will 
turn round and bite them before long!" 

From this time Madame Paloque showed herself much 
less accomodating. She became very irregular in her 
secretarial work, and she declined to perform any duties 
that she did not fancy, till at last the lady patronesses 
began to talk of employing a paid secretary. Marthe 
detailed these sources of trouble to the Abbd Faujas and 


THE CONQUEST OF PUSS HNS 


135 


asked him if he could recommed a suitable person. 

"Don’t trouble yourself to look out for any one," he 
said; "I dare say I can find you a fit person. Give me 
two or three days.” 

For some time past he had been frequently receiving 
letters with the Besancon postmark. They were all in 
the same hand-writing, a large, ugly hand. Rose, who 
took them up to him, used to say that he seemed vexed 
at the mere sight of the envelopes. 

Mouret’s old curiosity was awakened again at once by 
this correspondence. One day he took up one of the let¬ 
ters himself with a pleasant smile, telling the Abbd, as 
an excupe for his own appearance, that Rose was not in 
the house. The Abb6 probably saw through Mouret’s 
cunning, for he assumed an expression of great pleasure, 
as though he had been impatiently expecting the letter. 
Mouret, however, did not allow himself to be deceived 
by this piece of acting, and he stayed outside the door 
on the landing and glued his ear to the key-hole. 

‘‘From your sister again, isn’t it?" asked Madame 
Faujas’ hard voice. "Why does she worry you in this 
way?J’ 

“It’s always the same old story. She wants to come 
to us and bring her husband with her, that we may get 
him a place somewhere. She seems to think that we 
are wallowing in gold. I’m afraid they will be taking 
us by surprise some fine morning." 

"No, no! we can’t do with them here, Ovide!” his 
mother’s voice replied. "They have never liked you; 
they have always been jealous of you. Trouche is a 
scamp, and Olympe is quite heartless. They would want 
everything for themselves, and they would compromise 
you and interfere with your work.” 

Mouret was too much excited by the meanness he was 
committing to be able to hear well, and he thought that 


136 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


one of them was coming to the door, and so he hurried 
away. A few days later the Abb£ Faujas gave in his 
presence a definite reply to Marthe while they were all 
out on the terrace. 

“I think I can recommend you a suitable person/’ 
he said, in his calm unruffled manner. "It is a connec¬ 
tion of my own, my brother-in-law, who is coming here 
from Besancon in a few days.” 

Mouret became very attentive, while Marthe appeared 
quite delighted. 

“Oh, that is excellent!" she exclaimed. "I was feel¬ 
ing very much bothered about finding a suitable person. 
You see, with all those young girls, we must have a 
person of unexceptionable morality, but of course a con¬ 
nection of yours—" 

“Yes, yes," interrupted the priest; "my sister had a 
little hosiery business at Besancon, which she has been 
obliged to dispose of on account of her health; and now 
she is anxious to join us again as the doctors have or¬ 
dered her to live in the south. My mother is very much 
pleased.” 

"Pm sure she will be," Marthe said. “I dare say it 
grieved you very much to have to be separated, and you 
must be very glad to be together again. I* 11 tell you 
what you must do. There are a couple of rooms upstairs 
that you don’t use; why shouldn’t your sister and her 
husband have them? They have no children, have they?" 

“No, there are only their two selves. I had, indeed, 
thought for a moment of giving them those two rooms; 
but I was afraid of displeasing you by bringing other 
people into your house." 

“Not at all, I assure you. You are very quiet people." 

She checked herself suddenly as her husband violently 
pulled at her dress. He did not want to have the Abba’s 
relations in the house, and he remembered in what terms 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 137 

Madame Faujas had spoken of her daughter and son-in- 
law. 

“The rooms are very small ones,” he began; “and his 
reverence would be put to inconvenience. It would be 
better for all parties that his reverenced sister should 
take lodgings somewhere else; there happen to be some 
rooms vacant just now in the Paloque’s house, over 
the way.” 

There was a dead pause in the conversation. The 
priest said nothing and gazed up into the sky. Marthe 
thought he was offended, and she felt much distressed at 
her husband’s bluntness. After the lapse of a minute 
she could no longer endure the embarrassed silence. 
“Well, it’s settled then,” she said, without trying to 
more skillfully knit together again the broken threads of 
the conversation; “Rose shall help your mother to clean 
the two rooms. My husband was only thinking about 
your own personal convenience; but, of course, if you 
wish it, it is not for us to object to your disposing of 
the rooms in any way you like.” 

Mouret was very angry when he was again alone with 
his wife. 

“I can’t understand you at all! ” he cried. “When first 
I let the rooms to the Abb£, you were quite crpss and 
displeased, and seemed to hate the thought of having 
even so much as a cat brought into the house; and now 
I believe you would be perfectly willing for the Abb£ to 
bring the whole of his relations, down to his third and 
fourth cousins. Didn’t you feel me tugging at your 
dress? You might have known that I didn’t want these 
people. They are not respectable folks.” 

“How do you know that?” Marthe cried, annoyed by 
this accusation. “Who told you so?" 

“Oh, well, it was the Abb6 Faujas himself. I over¬ 
heard him one day as he was talking to his mother.” 


138 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


She looked at him keenly; and he blushed slightly 
beneath her gaze as he stammered out: 

“Well, it is sufficient that I do know. The sister is 
a heartless creature and her husband is a scamp. It's 
no use your putting on that air of insulted majesty; 
these are their own words, and I’m inventing nothing. 
I don’t want to have them here, do you understand? The 
old lady herself was the first to object to her daughter 
coming here. The Abb6 now seems to have changed his 
mind. I don’t know what has led him to alter his 
opinion. It’s some fresh mystery of his. He’s going to 
make use of them somehow.” 

Marthe shrugged her shoulders and allowed her hus¬ 
band to rail on. He told Rose not to clean the rooms, 
but Rose now only obeyed her mistress’ orders. For 
five days his anger vented itself in bitter words and 
furious recriminations. In the Abbd Faujas’ presence 
he confined himself to sulking, for he did not dare to 
openly attack him. Then as usual he ended by submit¬ 
ting, and ceased to rail at the people who were coming. 
He drew his purse-strings still tighter than before, 
isolated himself again and shut himself up in his own 
selfish existence. When the Trouches arrived one Oc¬ 
tober evening, he merely exclaimed: 

“Well, they don’t look a nice couple; they haven’t 
pleasant countenances.” 

The Abb6 Faujas did not appear very desirous that his 
sister and brother-in-law should be seen on the day of 
their arrival. His mother took up her position by the 
door, and as soon as she caught sight of them turning 
out of the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, she cast uneasy 
glances behind her into the passage and the kitchen. 
Luck, however, was against her, and, just as the Trou¬ 
ches arrived, Marthe, who was going out, came up from 
the garden, followed by her children. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSHNS 139 

“Ah! there you all are!” she said, with a pleasant 
smile. 

Madame Faujas, who was generally so completely 
mistress of herself, could not suppress a slight show of 
confusion, and she stammered a word or two of reply. 
For some moments they stood confronting and looking 
at each other in the passage. Mouret had hurriedly 
mounted the steps, and Rose had taken up her position 
at the kitchen door. 

“You must be very glad to be together again,” said 
Marthe, addressing Madame Faujas. 

Then, noticing the feeling of embarrassment which 
was keeping them all silent, she turned toward Trouche 
and added: 

“You arrived by the five o’clock train, I suppose. 
How long were you in getting here from Besancon?” 

‘Seventeen hours on the railway,” Trouche replied, 
displaying a mouth devoid of teeth. “It is no joke that, 
in a third-class carriage, I can tell you. One gets one’s 
belly pretty well shaken up.” 

Then he laughed with a peculiar clattering of his jaws. 
Madame Faujas cast a very angry glance at him, and 
he began to fumble mechanically at his greasy overcoat, 
trying to fasten a button that was no longer there, and 
holding against his thighs a couple of card-board bonnet- 
boxes he was carrying, one green and the other yellow, 
probably with a view to concealing the stains. His red 
throat was perpetually gurgling beneath a twisted rag of 
a black tie, over which there only appeared the edge of 
a dirty collar. In his face, that was # all scarred and that 
seemed to reek with vice, there glistened two little black 
eyes that ceaselessly rolled about, examining everybody 
and everything with an expression of astonishment and 
covetousness. They looked like the eyes of a thief study- 


140 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


ing a house which he means to come back to and plun¬ 
der during the night. 

Mouret fancied that Trouche was examining the fast¬ 
enings. 

“That fellow,” he thought to himself, “looks as though 
he were getting the pattern into his head! ” 

Olympe was conscious that her husband had made a 
vulgar remark. She was a tall, slight woman, fair and 
faded, with a flat, unpleasing face. She was carrying 
a little deal box and a big bundle tied up in a table¬ 
cloth. 

“We have brought some pillows with us,” she said, 
glancing at the bundle. “Pillows come in very usefully 
in a third-class carriage; they make you quite as com¬ 
fortable as if you were traveling first-class. It is a great 
saving going third, and it is no use throwing money 
away, is it?” 

“Certainly not,” Marthe replied, somewhat surprised 
at the new-comers. 

Olympe now came to the front and went on talking 
in a pleasing voice. 

"IPs the same thing with clothes,” she said; "when I 
am going to set off on a journey I put on all my shab¬ 
biest things. I told Honord that his old overcoat was 
quite good enough. You see I selected my worst dress; 
it is actually in holes, I believe, but it’s quite good 
enough to get spoilt with the dust, isn't it, madame?” 

“Certainly, certainly,” replied Marthe, trying to force 
a smile. 

Just at this moment a stern voice was heard from the 
top of the stairs giving utterance to a sharp exclamation: 

“Come, mother!” 

Mouret raised his head and saw the Abb6 Faujas lean¬ 
ing upon the balustrade on the second floor, looking, very 
angry, and bending over, at the risk of falling, to get 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


141 


a better view of what was going on in the passage. He 
had heard the sound of voices and he had been waiting 
there for a moment or two in great impatience. 

“Come, mother, come!’’ he cried again. 

“Yes, yes, we are coming up,” Madame Faujas an¬ 
swered, seeming to tremble at the sound of her son’s 
angry accents. 

Then turning to the Trouches she said: 

“Come along, my children, we must go upstairs. Let 
us leave madame to attend to her business.” 

But the Trouches did not seem to hear; they appeared 
quite satisfied to remain in the passage, and they looked 
about them with a pleased air, as though the house had 
just been presented to them. 

“It is very nice, very nice indeed, isn’t it, Honors?” 
Olympe said. “After what Ovide wrote in his letters we 
scarcely expected to fiiftl it so nice as this, did we? 
But I told you that we ought to come here, and that we 
should do better here, and I was right, you see.” 

“Yes, yes, we ought to be very comfortable here," Trou- 
che murmured. “The garden, too, seems a pretty big 
one.” 

Then, addressing Mouret, he asked: 

“Do you allow your lodgers to walk in the garden?" 

Before Mouret had time to reply, the Abb6 Faujas, 
who had come downstairs, cried out in thundering tones: 

“Come, Trouche! Come, Olympe!" 

They turned round; but when they saw him standing 
on the steps looking terribly angry, they had nothing to 
say, but meekly followed after him. The Abb£ went 
up the stairs in front of them without saying another 
word and without even having seemed to observe the 
presence of Mouret, who stood gazing after this singular 
procession. Madame Faujas smiled at Marthe to take 
away the awkwardness of the situation as she brought up 


142 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


the rear. When Marthe had gone out and Mouret was 
left alone, he lingered for a moment or two in the pas¬ 
sage. Upstairs, on the second floor, there was a sound 
of doors being noisily banged. Then there were loud 
voices to be heard, and then there was a dead silence. 

“Has he locked them up separately, I wonder?” Mou¬ 
ret said to himself with a laugh. Well, anyhow, they 
are not a nice family.” 

In the morning Trouche, respectably dressed entirely 
in black, shaven, and with his scanty hair carefully brushed 
over his temples, was presented by the Abb£ Faujas to 
Marthe and the lady patronesses. He was forty-five 
years of age, wrote a very good hand, and was said to 
have kept the books of a mercantile house for a long 
time. The ladies at once installed him as secretary. 
His duties were to represent the committee, and employ 
himselt in certain routine work from ten o’ clock till four 
in an office on the first floor of the Home. His salary 
was to be fifteen hundred francs. 

“These good people are very quiet, you see, ” Marthe 
said to her husband a few days afterward. 

The Trouches, indeed made no more noise than the 
Faujases. Two or three times Rose had asserted that 
she had heard quarrels between the mother and daugh¬ 
ter, but the Abba’s grave voice had immediately restored 
them to peace. 

Trouche went out every morning punctually at a quar¬ 
ter to ten, and came back again at a quarter past four. He 
never went out in the evening. Olympe occasionally 
went out with Madame Faujas to do her shopping, but 
she had never been seen to come down the stairs by 
herself. 

The window of the room in which the Trouches slept 
looked upon the garden; it was kept constantly closed. 
One evening when the Abb6 Faujas and his mother were 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


143 


out on the terrace with the Mourets a slight involuntary 
cough was heard. As the priest sharply raised his head 
with an expression of annoyance, he caught sight of the 
shadowy forms of Olympe and her husband leaning out 
of the window in perfect stillness. For a moment or two 
he kept his eyes turned upward, interrupting his con¬ 
versation with Marthe. The Trouches disappeared, and 
the subdued sound of the window-catch being fastened 
could be heard. 

“You had better go upstairs, I think, mother,” said the 
priest. “I am afraid you may be getting cold out here.” 

Madame Faujas wished them all good night; and, 
when she had retired, Marthe resumed the conversation 
by asking in her kindly tones: 

"Is your sister worse? I have not seen her for a 
week. ” 

“She has great need of rest,” the priest answered 
shortly. 

Marthe’s sympathetic interest made her continue the 
subject. 

“She shuts herself up too much," she said; “the fresh 
air would do her good. Why does she never come out 
into the garden? You know that it is entirely at your 
service. ” 

The priest muttered a few vague words in excuse, 
and then Mouret, to increase his embarrassment, mani¬ 
fested a still greater amiability than his wife’s. 

“That’s just what I was saying this morning,” he 
began. “His reverence’s sister might very well bring 
her sewing out here in the sun in the afternoons, instead 
of keeping herself shut up upstairs. And Monsieur 
Trouche, too he hurries up the stairs, four steps at a 
time. Tell them to come and spend an evening with 
us now and then. They must be frightfully dull up in 
that room of theirs all alone.” 



144 


THE CONQUEST OE PLASSANS 


The Abb6 did not seem to be in the humor this evening 
to submit to his landlord’s pleasantry. He looked him 
straight in the face, and said very bluntly: 

“I am much obliged to you, but there is little proba¬ 
bility oi their accepting your invitation. They are 
tired in the evening, and they go to bed- And, besides, 
that is the best thing they can do." 

"Just as they like, my dear sir," replied Mouret, vexed 
at the Abbd’s rough manner. 

When he was alone again with Marthe, he said to her- 

"Does the Abb£, I wonder, think he can persuade us 
that the moon is made of green cheese? It’s quite clear 
that he is afraid that those scamps he has taken in will 
play him some bad trick or other. There will be a bad 
end to all this!" 

Marthe was now living in a state of tender calm. 
She no longer felt troubled by Mouret’s railings; the 
gradual growth of her faith filled her with an exquisite 
joy, and she glided softly and slowly into a life of pious 
devotion, which seemed to lull her with a sweet restful¬ 
ness. The Abb6 Faujas still avoided speaking to her 
of God. On two or three occasions when she was alone 
with him she had again broken out into fits of nervous 
sobbing, without knowing why, but finding a happiness in 
thus allowing herself to weep. On each of these occasions 
the Abb6 had merely taken hold of her hands in silence, 
calming her with his serene and authoritative gaze. 
When she wanted to tell him of her causeless attacks of 
sadness, or of her secret joys, or of her need of guid¬ 
ance he smiled and hushed her, telling that these mat¬ 
ters were not his concern, and that she must speak of 
them to the Abb£ Bourrette. Then she retired com¬ 
pletely within herself and sat trembling, while the 
priest seemed to assume a still colder reserve than be¬ 
fore and strode away out of her reach like a god at whose 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


145 


feet she was wishing to pour out her soul in humiliation. 

Marthe’s chief occupation now was attending mass and 
the various religious services and works in which she 
took part. In the vast nave of Saint-Saturnin’s she was 
perfectly happy, and there she experienced the full sweet¬ 
ness of that purely physical restfulness for which she 
sought. She abandoned herself to a flood of tender 
emotion, in which everything around her seemed to as¬ 
sume a melting softness, even the unctuous voice of the 
Abb£ Bourrette, who, after he had confessed her, some¬ 
times kept her on her knees for a few minutes longer, 
while he talked to her about Madame Rastoil’s dinners 
or the Rougons’ reception. 

Marthe often returned home in a condition of complete 
prostration. Religion seemed to quite break her down. 
Rose had become all-powerful in the house. She scold¬ 
ed Mouret and found fault with him because he dirtied 
too much linen, and she made him have his dinner only 
when it was ready for him. She even began to set to 
work at his conversion. 

Mouret shrugged his shoulders. He let things take 
their own course, and sometimes he even did a bit of 
house-work himself, taking a turn or two with the broom 
when he thought the dining-room was looking particu¬ 
larly dusty. The children gave him most trouble. It 
was vacation-time, and, as their mother was scarcely 
ever in the house, D6sirde and Octave, who had again 
failed in his examination for his degree, turned the place 
upside down. Serge was ill and kept to his bed, and he 
spent whole days in reading in his room. He had become 
the Abbd Faujas’s favorite, and the priest lent him 
books. Mouret passed two dreadful months, at his wit’s 
end how to manage his young folks. 

“Since you won’t look after them at all,” he said to 
Marthe, “I must find some place or other to put them in. 


10 



146 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


It’s your own fault if it causes you any grief. Octave is 
quite unendurable. He will never pass his examination, 
and it will be much better to at once teach him how to 
gain his own living instead of leaving him to go on 
idling his time away with a lot of good-for-nothings.” 

Marthe was very much distressed. She seemed to 
wake up, as it were, from a dream when she heard that 
one of her children was to be separated from her. She 
succeeded in getting the departure postponed for a week, 
and she remained at home and resumed her active life of 
former days. But she quickly dropped back again into her 
previous state of listless languor; and on the day when Oc¬ 
tave came to kiss her, telling her that he was to leave for 
Marseilles in the evening, she seemed to have lost all her 
strength and energy, and she contented herself with mere¬ 
ly giving him some good advice. 

Mouret came back from the railway station with a 
very heavy heart. He looked about for his wife and he 
found her in the garden, crying under the arbor. Then 
he gave vent to his feelings. 

“There! there’s one the less now!” he cried. “You 
ought to feel glad of that. You will be able to go 
prowling about the church now as much as you like. 
Make your mind easy, the other two won’t be here long. 
I shall keep Serge with me as he is a very quiet lad and 
is rather young yet to go and read for the bar; but if 
he’s at all in your way, just let me know and I will free 
you of him at once. As for D6sir6e, I shall send her to 
her nurse. 

Marthe went on weeping in silence. 

“What is it you want? you can’t be both in and out. 
Since you have taken to being away from your home, 
your children have become indifferent to you. That’s 
logic, isn’t it? Besides it is quite necessary to find 
places somewhere for all the crowd of people who are 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


147 


living in our house. It isn't nearly big enough, and we 
shall be lucky if we don’t get turned out of doors our¬ 
selves. ” 

He had raised his eyes as he spoke and was looking at 
the windows of the second-floor. Then lowering his 
voice, he added: 

“Don’t go on crying in that ridiculous way! They 
are watching you. Don’t you see that pair of eyes peep¬ 
ing through the red curtains? They are the eyes of the 
Abba’s sister; I know them quite well. You may always 
depend on seeing them there all the day through. The 
Abb6 himself may be a good man, but as for those Trou- 
ches, you may be quite sure that they are enjoying our 
disagreement. Even though they have been the cause of 
the boy’s going away, that is no reason why we should 
let them see what a trouble his departure has been to us 
both." 

His voice broke, and he seemed on the point of sob¬ 
bing himself. Marthe, deeply touched by his last words, 
was prompted to throw herself into his arms. But they 
were afraid of being observed, and they felt as though 
there were some obstacle between them that prevented 
them from coming together. Thus they separated, while 
Olympe’s eyes still continued to glisten between the red 
curtains. 


XI 

One morning the Abb6 Bourrette made his appearance, 
his face betokening the greatest distress. As soon as 
he caught sight of Marthe standing upon the steps, he 
hurried up to her and seizing her hands and pressing 
them he stammered out: 



148 


THE CONQUEST OF PL/tSSANS 


“Poor Compan! it is all over with him! he is dying! 
I am going upstairs, I must see Faujas at once.” 

When Marthe showed him the priest, who, according 
to his usual custom was walking about at the bottom of 
the garden, reading his breviary, he ran up to him, totter¬ 
ing on his short legs. He tried to speak to him and telj 
him the sad news, but his grief choked him, and he could 
only throw his arms round the Abbd Faujas* neck, while 
he sobbed bitterly. 

“Hallo! what’s the matter with the two parsons?” 
cried Mouret, who had hastily rushed out of the dining¬ 
room. 

"The vicar of Saint-Saturnin’s is dying,” Marthe re¬ 
plied, showing much distress. 

Mouret*s face assumed an expression of surprise, and 
as he went back into the house, he murmured: 

“Pooh! that worthy Bourrette will manage to console 
himself to-morrow when he is appointed vicar in the 
other’s place. He counts on getting the post; he told 
me so.” 

The Abbd Faujas disengaged himself from the old 
priest’s embrace, and listened to his sad news with a 
grave expression as he quietly closed his breviary. 

“Compan wants to see you,” the Abbd Bourrette said 
in broken tones; "he will not last the morning out. Oh! 
he has been a dear friend to me! We studied together. 
He is anxious to say good-bye to you. He has been tell¬ 
ing me all through the night that you were the only man 
of courage in the diocese. For more than a year he has been 
getting weaker and weaker, and not a single priest in 
Plassans has dared to go and grasp his hand; while 
you, who scarcely knew him, have spent an afternoon 
with him every week. The tears came into his eyes just 
now as he was speaking of you; you must lose no time, 
my friend.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


149 


The Abb6 Faujas went upstairs to his room for a mo¬ 
ment or two, while the Abb£ Bourrette paced impatiently 
and hopelessly about the passage; and then at last they 
set off together. The old priest wiped his brow and 
swayed about on the roadway as he spoke in broken 
tones. 

"He would have died like a dog without a single 
prayer said for him if his sister had not come and told 
me about him at eleven o’clock last night. She did quite 
right, the dear lady, though he did not want to compro¬ 
mise any of us, and even would have foregone the last 
sacraments. Yes, my friend, he was dying alone and 
abandoned and deserted, he who was so clever, and who 
has only lived to do good! 

Then he was silent; but after a few moments he re¬ 
sumed again in a different voice: 

"Do you suppose that Fenil will ever forgive me for 
this? Never, I expect! When Compan saw me bring¬ 
ing the consecrated oil, he was unwilling to let me 
anoint him and told me to go away. Well! well! it’s 
all over with me now, and I shall never be vicar! But 1 
am glad that I did it, and that I have not let Compan 
die like a dog. He has been at war with Fenil for thir¬ 
ty years. When he took to his bed he said to me, ‘Ah! 
it is Fenil who is going to carry the day! Now that I 
am stricken down he will get the better of me.’ That 
poor Compan whom I have seen so high-spirited and en¬ 
ergetic at Saint-Saturnin’s! ” 

The Abbd Faujas, who was stepping quickly along 
with a preoccupied air, kept perfectly silent, and did 
not seem to hear, what his companion was saying. 

"Has the bishop been informed?” he asked suddenty. 

But the Abb6 Bourrette in his turn now appeared to be 
buried in thought and he made no reply; but as they 
reached the Abb6 Compan’s door he said: 


150 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“Tell him that we have just met Fenil and that he 
bowed to us. It will please him and he will think that 
I shall be appointed vicar. 

They went up the stairs in silence. The dying man’s 
sister came to receive them. As she caught sight of 
the two priests she burst into tears, and stammered out 
through her sobs: 

“It is all over! He has just passed away in my 
arms. I was quite alone with him. As he was dying, 
he looked round him and murmured, ‘I must have the 
plague since they have all deserted me.’ Ah! gentle¬ 
men, he died with his eyes filled with tears.” 

They went into the little room where the Abbd Compan 
seemed to be sleeping with his head on the pillow. His 
eyes had remained open, and his white and mournfully 
sad face was still weeping; the tears yet trickled down 
his cheeks. Then the Abbd Bourrette fell upon his knees, 
sobbing and praying, with his face pressed against the 
counterpane. The Abbd Faujas remained standing, 
gazing at the dead man; then, after having knelt down 
for a moment, he quietly went away. The Abbd Bour¬ 
rette was so absorbed in his grief that he did not even 
hear him close the door. 

The Abbe Faujas went straight to the bishop’s. In 
Monseigneur Rousselot’s antechamber he met the Abb 6 
Surin, carrying a bundle of papers. 

“Do you want to speak to his lordship?” the secretary 
asked, with his never-failing smile. “You have come 
at an unfortunate time. His lordship is so busy that he 
has given orders that no one is to be admitted to 
him. ” 

“I want to see him on a very urgent matter,” the Abb6 
Faujas said quietly. “You can at any rate let him know 
that I am here; and I will wait, if it is necessary.” 

“I am afraid that there would be no use in your doing 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


151 


that. His lordship has several people with him. It 
would be better if you came again to-morrow.” 

But the Abb6 took a chair, and just as he was doing 
so the bishop opened the door of his study. He appeared 
much vexed on seeing his visitor, whom he at first pre¬ 
tended not to recognize. 

“My son,” he said to Surin, “when you have arranged 
those papers, come to me immediately; there is a letter 
I want to dictate to you.” 

Then turning to the priest, who remained respectfully 
standing, he said: 

“Ah! is that you, Monsieur Faujas? I am very glad to 
see you. Is there anything you want to say to me? 
Come into my study; you are never in the way.” 

Monseigneur Rousselot’s study was a very large and 
rather gloomy room, in which a great wood fire was kept 
constantly burning, in the summer as well as the winter. 
The heavy carpet and curtains shut out all the air and 
the room felt like a warm bath. The bishop passed a 
chilly existence there in his arm-chair, like some dowager 
shutting herself up from the world, detesting all noise 
and excitement, and devolving upon . the Abb£ Fenil the 
care of his diocese. He delighted in the classics, and 
it was said that he was secretly making a translation of 
Horace. He was equally fond of the little verses of the 
Anthology, and broad quotations occasionally escaped 
from his lips, which he eqjoyed with a learned naivete 
quite insensible to vulgar modesty. 

“There is no one here, you see,” said he, sitting down 
before the fire; “but I am not feeling very well to-day, 
and I gave orders that nobody was to be admitted. Now 
you can tell me what you have to say; I am quite at 
your service.” 

His general expression of amiability was tinged with 
a kind of vague uneasiness and a sort of resigned sub- 




152 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


mission. When the Abb6 Faujas had informed him of 
the death of the Abbd Compan, he rose from his chair, 
seeming much distressed and annoyed. 

"What! ” he cried, "my good Compan dead and with¬ 
out my having been able to bid him farewell No one 
gave me any warning! Ah, my friend, you were right 
when you gave me to understand that I was no longer 
master here. They abuse my kindness.” 

"Your lordship knows,” said the Abbd Faujas, "how 
devoted I am to you. I am only waiting for a sign from 
you. ” 

The bishop shook his head as he murmured: 

"Yes, yes; I remember the offer you made to me. You 
have an excellent heart; but what an uproar there 
would be, if I were to break with the Abbd Fenil! I 
should have my ears deafened for a whole week! But 
yet if I could feel quite sure that you could really rid me 
of him.” 

The Abb£ Faujas could not repress a smile. Tears 
were welling from the bishop’s eyes. 

Yes, I am afraid, I am afraid,” the latter resumed, 
as he sank down again in his chair. "I don’t feel equal 
to it yet. It is that miserable man who has killed Com¬ 
pan and who has kept his death-agony a secret from me 
that I might not go and close his eyes. He is capable 
of the most terrible things. And, as you see, I like to 
live in peace. ” 

He grew calmer again and his smile returned. 

"Besides, all is going on satisfactorily at present, and 
I don’t see any immediate difficulty. We can wait.” 

The Abbd Faujas sat down as he replied calmly: 

No doubt; but still you will have to appoint a vicar 
for Saint-Saturnin’s in succession to the Abb6 Compan.” 

Monseigneur Rousselot lifted his hands to his temples 
with an expression of hopelessness. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSHNS 


153 


"Indeed, you are right!” he ejaculated. "I had for¬ 
gotten all about that. That good Compan doesn’t know 
in what a hole he has put me by dying so suddenly 
without my having had any warning. I promised you the 
place, didn’t I?” 

The Abb6 bowed. 

"Well, my friend, you shall save me by letting me take 
back my word. You know how Fenil detests you. The 
success of the Home of the Virgin has made him quite 
furious, and he swears that he will prevent you from 
making the conquest of Plassans. I am talking to you, 
you see, quite openly. Recently, when reference has 
been made to the appointment of a vicar for Saint- 
Saturnin’s, I have let fall your name. Fenil flew into a 
frightful rage and I was obliged to promise that I would 
give the place to a friend of his, the Abb6 Chardon, 
whom you know, and who is really a very worthy man. 
Now, my friend, do this much for me, and give up this 
matter. I will make you whatever recompense you like 
to name.” 

The priest’s face wore a grave expression. After a 
short interval of silence, during which he seemed to be 
taking counsel of himself, he spoke: 

"You know well, my lord,” he said, "that I am quite 
without personal ambition. I should much prefer to 
lead a life of privacy, and it would be a great relief to 
me to give up this appointment. But I am not my own 
master, and I feel bound to satisfy those patrons of mine 
who take an interest in me. I trust that your lordship 
will reflect very seriously before taking a step which you 
would probably regret afterward.” 

Although the Abb6 Faujas spoke very humbly, the 
bishop was not unconscious of the menace which his 
words veiled. He rose from his chair and took a few 
steps about the room, a prey to the most painful doubt. 


154 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


"Well, well," he said, lifting his hands, "this has 
been tormenting me for a long time. I should have much 
preferred avoiding all these explanations, but, since you 
insist, I must speak frankly. Well, my dear sir, the 
Abbe Fenil brings many charges against you. As I think 
I have told you before, he must have written to Besan- 
con and learnt from thence all the vexatious stories you 
know of. You have certainly explained all those matters 
to me, and I am quite aware of your merits and of your 
life of penitence and solitude; but what can I do? Fenil 
has weapons against you and he uses them ruthlessly; I 
often don’t know what to say in your defense. When the 
minister requested me to receive you into my diocese, 
I did not conceal from him that your position would be 
a difficult one; but he continued to press me and said 
that that was your affair, and so in the end I consented. 
But you must not come to-day and ask me to do what 
is impossible." 

The Abb£ Faujas had not lowered his head during the 
bishop’s remarks, and now he raised it still higher as he 
looked him straight in the face and said in his sharp 
voice: 

"You have given me your promise, my lord." 

"Certainly, certainly,” the bishop replied. "That poor 
Compan was getting weaker every day and you came and 
confided certain matters to me, and then I made the 
promise to you. I don’t deny it. Listen to me, I will 
tell you everything, that you may not accuse me of wheel¬ 
ing round like a weather-cock. You asserted that the 
minister was extremely desirous for you to be appointed 
vicar of Saint-Saturnin’s. Well, I wrote to obtain in¬ 
formation on the subject, and a friend of mine went to 
the minister’s office. They almost laughed in his face, 
and they told him that they didn’t even know you. The 
minister absolutely denies that he is your supporter, do 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


155 


you hear? If you wish it, I will read you a letter in 
which he makes some very stern remarks about you.” 

He stretched out his arms toward a drawer, but the 
Abb6 Faujas rose to his feet without taking his eyes off 
the bishop, while he smiled with mingled irony and 
pity. 

"Ah, my lord! my lord!” he said. 

Then, after a moment’s silence, as though he were un¬ 
willing to enter into further explanations, he said: 

"I give your lordship back your promise; but believe 
that in all this I was working more for your own advan¬ 
tage than for mine. By and by, when it will be too late, 
you will call my warnings to mind.” 

He stepped toward the door, but the bishop laid his 
hand upon him and brought him back, saying with an 
expression of uneasiness: 

“What do you mean? Explain yourself, my dear Mon¬ 
sieur Faujas. I know very well that I am not in favor 
at Paris since the election of the Marquis de Lagrifoul. 
But they know me very little if they suppose that I had 
any hand in the matter. I don’t go out of my study 
twice in a month. Do you imagine that they accuse me 
of having caused the marquis’ nomination?” 

"Yes, I am afraid so,” the priest replied shortly. 

“But it is quite absurd! I have never interfered in 
politics; 1 live amongst my beloved books It is Fenil 
who has done it all. I have told him a score of times 
that he would end by compromising me at Paris.” 

He checked himself and blushed slightly at having 
allowed these last words to escape him. The Abbd 
Faujas sat down again in front of him and said in deep 
tones: 

“My lord, you have just condemned your vicar-general. 
I have never given you any other advice. Do not con¬ 
tinue to make common cause with him or he will lead 


156 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


you into serious trouble I have friends at Paris, what¬ 
ever you may believe. Rightly or wrongly they believe 
that you are the sole cause of the opposition movement 
which has manifested itself in Plassans, where the min¬ 
ister, for special reasons, is most anxious to have a ma¬ 
jority. If the legitimist candidate should again succeed 
at the next election, it would be very awkward, and I 
should be considerably alarmed for your comfort.” 

“But this is abominable!” cried the unhappy bishop, 
rocking himself in his chair; “I can't prevent the legiti¬ 
mist candidate from being returned! Really there are 
times when I feel that I should like to go and shut myself 
up in a monastery. It is Fenil who ought to be bishop 
instead of me. If I were to listen to Fenil, I should 
get completely on bad terms with the government. I 
should hearken only to Rome, and tell Paris to mind 
its own business. The minister then, you say, is enraged 
with me?” 

The priest made no reply. Two creases at the corners 
of his mouth gave to his face an expression of silent 
scorn. 

“Really,” continued the bishop, “if I thought it would 
please him if I were to appoint you vicar of Saint-Sat- 
urnin’s, I would try to manage it. But I can assure you 
that you are mistaken. You are but very little in the 
odor of sanctity.” 

The Abbd Faujas made a hasty movement of his 
hands, as he broke out impatiently: 

“Have you forgotten,” he said, “that calumnies are 
circulated about me, and that I came to Plassans with 
a soiled cassock? When they send a compromised man 
to a post of danger, they deny all knowledge of him 
till the day of triumph. Help me to succeed, my lord, 
and then you will see that I have friends at Paris." 

Then, as the bishop, in surprise at the energy of the 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


157 


adventurous priest, continued to gaze at him in silence, 
the latter lapsed into a less assertive manner as he con¬ 
tinued- 

“These, however, are suppositions, and what I mean is, 
that I have much to be pardoned. My friends are wait¬ 
ing to thank you till my position is completely estab¬ 
lished." 

Monseigneur Rousselot kept silence for a moment 
longer. He was a man of sharp understanding, and he 
had gained a knowledge of human failings from books. 
In the life which he led of a learned epicurean, there 
were times when he felt a supreme amusement at the 
ambitious men about him, who fought amongst them¬ 
selves for a few stray shreds of his power. 

“Well," he said, with a smile, “you are a persistent 
man, my dear Monsieur Faujas, and since I have made 
you a promise I will keep it. Six months ago, I confess, 
I should have been afraid of stirring up all Plassans 
against me, but in appointing you vicar of Saint-Satur- 
nin's, I am only paying the debt which we owe you for 
the Home of the Virgin." 

The bishop had recovered all his pleasant amiability 
and charming manner. Just at this moment the Abb6 
Surin put his handsome head through the doorway. 

“No, my child," said the bishop to him, “I shall not 
dictate that letter to you. I have no further need of 
you, and you can go away." 

“The Abb6 Fenil is here,” said the young priest. 

“Oh very well, let him wait!" 

Monseigneur Rousselot winced slightly; but he spoke 
to his secretary with an expression of almost cheerful 
decision, and he looked at the Abbd Faujas with a 
glance of intelligence. 

“See! go out this way," he said to him as he opened 
a door that was hidden behind a curtain. 


158 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


He kept the priest standing on the threshold for a 
moment, and continued to look at him with a smile on his 
face. 

“Fenil will be furious,” he said; "but you will prom¬ 
ise to defend me against him if he is too hard upon me? 
I am making him your enemy, I warn you of that. I am 
counting upon you, too, to prevent the re-election of the 
Marquis de Lagrifoul. Ah! it is upon you that I am 
leaning now, my dear Monsieur Faujas.” 

He waved his white hand to the Abbd, and then he 
returned with an appearance of perfect unconcern to 
the warmth of his study. The priest had retained his 
humble demeanor, feeling surprised at the quite fem¬ 
inine ease with which the bishop changed from the at¬ 
titude of master and yielded to the stronger side. And 
it was only after they had parted that he began to feel 
that Monseigneur Rousselot had just been secretly laugh¬ 
ing at him, as he laughed at the Abbd Fenil in that 
downy arm-chair of his where he read his Horace. 

About ten o’clock on the following Thursday, just 
when the fashionable society of Plassans were treading 
on each other’s feet in the Rougons’ green drawing-room, 
the Abbd Faujas appeared at the door. He looked tall 
and majestic, and there was a bright color on his cheeks, 
and he wore a brand-new cassock that glistened like satin. 
His face was still grave, though there was a slight smile 
upon it, just the pleasant turn of the lips that was nec¬ 
essary to light up his stern countenance with a ray of 
cheerfulness. 

"Ah! here is the dear vicar!” Madame de Condamin 
cried gayly. 

The Abbd Faujas bowed with easy composure. All 
around him there was immediately a flattering ovation 
in his honor, a buzzing of enthusiastic women. Madame 
Delangre and Madame Rastoil did not wait till he came 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


159 

up to them, but they at once hastened to congratulate 
him upon his appointment, which had been officially 
announced that morning. The mayor, the magistrate, 
and even Monsieur de Bourdeu, all stepped up to him 
and shook his hand heartily. 

“Ah, he’s a fine fellow and will go a long way!” Mon¬ 
sieur de Condamin murmured into Doctor Porquier’s ear. 
“I scented him from the first day I saw him. That 
grimacing old Madame Rougon and he tell no end of 
lies. They must be mixed up in some queer things, to¬ 
gether. ” 

Doctor Porquier was terribly afraid of being compro¬ 
mised by Monsieur de Condamin, and so he hurried away 
from him, and hastened, like the others, to grasp the 
Abb6 Faujas’ hand, although he had never spoken a 
word to him. 

The priest’s triumphal entry was the great event of the 
evening. He had now seated himself and he was hemmed 
in by a triple circle of petticoats. He talked with 
a charming sprightliness and spoke on all sorts, of sub¬ 
jects, but carefully avoided replying to any hints or allu¬ 
sions. When Felicity questioned him directly, he merely 
said that he should not occupy the vicarage and that he 
preferred remaining in the lodgings where he had been 
so comfortable for nearly three years. Marthewas pres¬ 
ent among the other ladies, and was, as usual, extremely 
reserved. She had only just smiled at the Abb£, watch¬ 
ing him from the distance, looking a little pale and 
seeming rather weary and uneasy. When he signified 
his intention of not quitting the Rue Balande, she blushed 
and rose from her seat and went into the small drawing¬ 
room, appearing to feel suffocated with the heat. Mad¬ 
ame Paloque, beside whom Monsieur de Condamin had 
seated himself, sniggered as she said to him quite loud 
enough to be heard: 


160 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSHNS 


"It’s very decorous, isn’t it? She certainly might re¬ 
frain from making assignations with him here, since they 
have the whole day to themselves!” 

About the middle of the evening the Abb£ Bourrette 
arrived. Conversation ceased and everyone looked at 
him with curiosity. They all knew that he had been ex¬ 
pecting to be appointed vicar of Saint-Saturnin’s him¬ 
self. He had taken the Abb£ Compan’s duties during his 
long illness, and he had a lien upon the appointment. 
He lingered for a moment by the door, a little out of 
breath, then, catching sight of the Abb6 Faujas, he has¬ 
tened eagerly up to him, and seizing both his hands with 
a show of much pleasure he exclaimed: 

w Ah! my dear friend, let me congratulate you! I have 
just come from your rooms, where your mother told me 
that you were here. I am delighted to see you.” 

The Abb6 Faujas had risen from his seat, and notwith¬ 
standing his great self-control, he seemed annoyed, taken 
by surprise by this unexpected display of affection. 

"Yes,” he murmured, "I felt bound to accept his lord¬ 
ship’s offer in spite of my lack of merit. I refused it, 
indeed, at first, mentioning to his lordship the names of 
more deserving priests than myself. I mentioned your 
own name.” 

The Abb6 Bourrette blinked his eyes, and taking the 
Abb£ Faujas aside he said to him in low tones: 

"His lordship has told me all about it. Fenil, it 
seems, would not hear of me. He would have set the 
whole diocese in a blaze if I had been appointed. Those 
were his very words. My crime is having closed poor 
Compan’s eyes He demanded, as you know, the ap¬ 
pointment of the Abb6 Chardon, a pious man no doubt, 
but not of sufficient reputation. Fenil counted upon 
reigning at Saint-Saturnin’s in his name. It was then 
that his lordship determined to give you the place and 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


161 


checkmate him. I am quite avenged, and I am delighted, 
my dear friend. Did you know the full story?’’ 

“No, not in all its details.” 

“Well, it is all just as I have told you, I can assure 
you. I have the facts from his lordship’s own lips. 
Between ourselves, he has hinted to me of a very suf¬ 
ficient recompense. The deputy vicar-general, the Abb£ 
Vial, has for a long time been desirous of going and 
settling in Rome, and his place will be vacant, you un¬ 
derstand. But don’t say anything about this. I wouldn’t 
take a big sum of money for my day’s work.” 

The Abb6 Bourrette was sharing in the general tri¬ 
umph when Madame Paloque, craning out her hideous 
face, touched him on the shoulder while she murmured 
in his ear: 

“Your reverence won’t then, I suppose, hear confes¬ 
sions to-morrow in Saint-Michael’s chapel?" 

The priest, while he had been taking the Abb£ Corn- 
pan’s duty, had occupied the confessional in Saint-Mi¬ 
chael’s chapel, which was the largest and most convenient 
in the church and was specially reserved for the vicar. 
He did not at first understand the force of Madame Pal¬ 
oque’s observation, and he looked at her, blinking his 
eyes. 

“I am asking,” she continued, "if you will resume 
your old confessional in the chapel of the Holy Angels, 
to-morrow. ” 

He turned a little pale and continued silent for a 
moment or two longer. He bent his gaze to the floor, 
and a slight shiver ran over the back of his neck, as 
though he had received a blow from behind. Then, 
seeing that Madame Paloque was still there staring at 
him, he stammered out: 

“Certainly; I shall resume my old confessional. Come 
to the chapel of the Holy Angels, the last one to the 


162 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

left on the same side as the cloisters. It is very damp, 
so wrap yourself up well, my dear madame, wrap your¬ 
self up well.” 

The tears rose to his eyes. He was filled with a re¬ 
gretful longing for the handsome confessional in the 
chapel of Saint-Michael, into which the warm sun 
streamed in the afternoon just at the time when he heard 
confessions. Madame Paloque told him in her loud 
voice that he appeared to have grown melancholy all at 
once, but he protested against this and tried to smile 
and look cheerful again. He left the drawing- room 
early in the evening. 

The Abb6 Faujas was one of the last to go. Rougon 
came up to him to offer his congratulations and they sat 
talking earnestly together on a couch. They spoke of 
the necessity of religious feeling in a wisely ordered 
state. Each lady, on retiring from the room, made a 
low bow as she passed in front of him. 

"You know, your reverence,” Felicity said graciously, 
'that you are my daughter's cavalier.” 

The priest rose from his seat. Marthe was waiting for 
him at the door. When they got into the street, they 
seemed as though they were blinded by the darkness, and 
they crossed the Place of the Sub-Prefecture without a 
word passing between them; but in the Rue Balande, as 
they stood in front of the house, Marthe touched the 
priest's arm just as he was going to put the key into the 
lock. 

"I am so very pleased at your success,” she said to him, 
in tones of great emotion. "Be kind to me to day, and 
grant me the favor which you have hitherto refused. I 
assure you that the Abb6 Bourrette does not understand 
me. It is only you who can direct me and save me.” 

He motioned her away from him, and, when he had 
opened the door and lighted the little, lamp which Rose 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


163 


had left at the foot of the staircase, he went up the 
stairs, saying to her gently as he did so: 

“You promised me to be reasonable, and I will think 
over what you have asked. We will talk about it.” 

Marthe did not retire to her own room until she had 
heard the priest close his door on the upper floor. She 
paid no attention, while she was undressing and getting 
to bed, to Mouret, who, half asleep, was retailing to her 
at great length the gossiping stories that were being cir¬ 
culated in the town. He had been at his club, the Com¬ 
mercial Club, a place where he rarely set foot. 

“The Abb6 Faujas has got the better of the Abb6 
Bourrette,” he repeated for the tenth time as he slowly 
rolled his head upon the pillow. “Poor Abb6 Bourrette! 
Well, never mind! it's good fun to see these parsons de¬ 
vouring each other. Why don’t you say anything, my 
dear? You don’t agree with me, eh? Or is it because 
you are going to sleep? Well, well, good-night then, 
my dear.” 

He fell asleep, still muttering fragments of sentences, 
while Marthe, with widely opened eyes, stared up into 
the air and followed over the ceiling that was lighted 
by the night-light the pattering of the Abba’s slippers 
while he was preparing to go to bed. 


XII 

Upon the return of the summer the Abb6 Faujas and 
his mother again came down-stairs to enjoy the fresh 
air on the terrace. Mouret had become very cross-grained. 
He declined the old lady’s invitations to play piquet and 
he sat swaying himself about on a chair. Seeing him 
yawn, without making any attempt to conceal how bored 
he was feeling,Marthe said to him: 



164 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“Why don’t you go to your club, my dear?" 

He went there now more frequently than he had been 
used to do. When he returned he found his wife and 
the Abb6 still in the same place on the terrace, while 
Madame Faujas, a few yards away from them, maintained 
her attitude of a blind and dumb guardian. 

When anyone in the town spoke to Mouret of the new 
vicar, he still continued to be very loud in his praises 
of him. He was, he said, decidedly a superior sort of 
man, and he himself had never felt any doubt of his 
great abilities. 

“Your husband, then, has become reasonable at last?" 
Felicity remarked to her daughter one day. "He leaves 
you free.” 

Marthe looked at her mother with an air of surprise. 

“I have always been free," she said. 

“Ah! my dear child, I see you don’t want to say any¬ 
thing against him. You told me once that he looked 
very unfavorably upon the Abb6 Faujas." 

“Nothing of the kind, I assure you! You must have 
imagined it. My husband is upon the best terms with 
the Abb£ Faujas. There is nothing whatever to make 
them otherwise." 

Marthe was much astonished at the persistence with 
which everybody seemed to imagine that her husband 
and the Abb6 were not good friends. Frequently, at the 
committee-meetings at the Home of the Virgin, the ladies 
put questions to her which made her quite impatient. 
She was really very happy and contented, and the house 
in the Rue Balande had never seemed pleasanter to her 
than it did now. The Abb6 Faujas had given her to un¬ 
derstand that he would undertake her spiritual direction 
when he was of opinion that the Abbd Bourrette was no 
longer sufficient, and she lived with this hope filling her 
mind with a simple joy, like some girl at her first com- 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS/INS 165 

munion who is promised some holy picture if she keeps 
good. 

Since his appointment as vicar of Saint-Saturnin’s, the 
Abbd Faujas had shown a gentle dignity which seemed 
to be increasing. He carried his breviary and his hat 
with an air of authority, and he had exhibited such pow¬ 
ers at the cathedral as had insured him the respect of 
the clergy. The Abbd Fenil, receiving another defeat 
on two or three matters of detail, now seemed to have 
left his adversary in unopposed control. The Abb^ Fau¬ 
jas, however, was not foolish enough to make any indis¬ 
creet use of his triumph, and he showed himself ex¬ 
tremely humble and meek. He was quite conscious that 
a large section of society in the town still looked upon 
him with suspicion. They found fault with him for the 
want of explicitness in his political opinions. But the 
Abbd only smiled and said that he belonged to the hon¬ 
est men’s party, a reply which saved him a more explicit 
declaration. He showed no haste or anxiety, but contin¬ 
ued to hold himself aloof till the drawing-rooms should 
open their doors to him of their own accord. 

“No, my friend, not now; later on we will see about 
it,” he said to the Abbd Bourrette who had been press¬ 
ing him to pay a visit to Monsieur Rastoil. 

He was known to have refused two invitations to the 
Sub-Prefecture, and the Mourets were still the only peo¬ 
ple with whom he allowed himself to be intimate. 

He was quite at home now in Mouret’s garden. He no 
longer confined himself to pacing up and down beneath 
the^irbor as he read his breviary but he strolled freely 
about the walks and paths, and his cassock glided blackly 
past all the greenery. One Tuesday, as he was making 
the tour of the garden, he caught sight of Monsieur Maf- 
fre and Madame Rastoil below him and bowed to them, 
and then as he passed along under the terrace of the Sub- 


166 THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 

Prefecture, he saw Monsieur de Condamin leaning there 
in company with Doctor Porquier. After an exchange of 
salutations, the priest was going to return along the 
path, when the doctor called to him. 

“Just a word, your reverence, I beg.” 

Then he asked him at what time he could see him on 
the following day. This was the first occasion upon 
which anyone of the two sets of guests had spoken to 
the priest from one garden to the other. The doctor 
was in great trouble. His scamp of a son had just been 
caught in a disorderly house behind the gaol in company 
with a troop of other worthless characters. The most 
distressing part of the matter was that Guillaume was 
accused of being the leader of the band and of having 
led astray Monsieur Maffre’s sons, who were much 
younger than himself. 

“Pooh!” Monsieur de Condamin said, with his skep¬ 
tical laugh; “young men must sow their wild oats. What 
a fuss about nothing! Here’s the whole town in a state 
of perturbation because these young fellows have been 
caught playing baccarat and there happened to be a lady 
with them!” 

The doctor seemed very much shocked. 

“I want to ask your advice," he said, addressing him¬ 
self to the priest. “Monsieur Maffre came to my house 
boiling over with anger, and assailed me with the bitter¬ 
est reproaches, crying out that it was all my fault and 
that I had brought up my son badly. Monsieur Maffre 
ought to know me better. I have sixty years of stainless 
life behind me." 

He went on wailing and dwelling upon the sacrifices 
he had made for his son and expressing fears that he 
would lose his practice in consequence of the young 
man’s misconduct. The Abb6 Faujas, standing in the 
middle of the path, raised his head and listened to him 
gravely. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


167 


“I shall be only too glad if I can be of any service to 
you/' he said kindly. “I will see Monsieur Maffre and 
will let him understand that his natural indignation has 
carried him too far. I will go at once and ask him to 
appoint a meeting with me for to-morrow. He is over 
there, on the other side.” 

The Abb£ crossed the garden and went over toward 
Monsieur Maffre, .who was still there with Madame Ras- 
toil. When the magistrate found that the priest desired 
an interview with him, he would not hear of his giving 
himself any trouble about it, but said that he would 
have the honor of calling upon him the next day. 

“Ah! your reverence,” Madame Rastoil said, “let me 
compliment you upon your sermon last Sunday. All the 
ladies were much affected by it, I can assure you." 

The Abbd bowed and crossed the garden again to reas¬ 
sure Doctor Porquier. Then he continued slowly pacing 
up and down the walks till night-fall, without taking part 
in any further conversations, and still hearing the merri¬ 
ment of the two groups of guests on his right hand and 
on his left. 

When Monsieur Maffre appeared the next day, the 
Abb6 Faujas was watching through his window a couple 
of men who were at work repairing the fountain in the 
garden. He had expressed a desire to see the jet play¬ 
ing again; the empty basin, he said, had a melancholy 
appearance. Mouret did not seem very willing to have 
anything done, alleging the probability of accidents, 
but Marthe prevailed upon him to let the repairs be ex¬ 
ecuted upon the understanding that the basin should be 
protected by a railing. 

“Your reverence,” said Rose, “his worship the magis¬ 
trate wants to see you.” 

The Abb6 Faujas hastened down-stairs. He wanted 
to bring Monsieur Maffre up to his own room on the second 


168 


THE CONQUEST OF PL4SS4NS 


floor, but Rose had already opened the drawing-room 
door. 

‘’Go in,” she said; “aren’t you at home here? There 
is no use in making his worship go up two flights of 
stairs. If you had only told me this morning, I would 
have given the room a dusting.” 

As she was closing the door upon the Abb£ and the 
magistrate, after having opened the shutters, Mouret 
called her into the dining-room. 

“That”s right, Rose,” he cried, “you had better give 
my dinner to your priest this evening, and if he hasn’t 
got sufficient blankets of his own up-stairs you can put 
him into my bed.” 

The cook exchanged a meaning glance with Marthe, 
who was working by the window, waiting till the sun 
had left the terrace. Then, shrugging her shoulders, she 
said: 

“Ah! sir, you have never had a charitable heart!" 

In the drawing-room the Abb6 Faujaswas gently re¬ 
monstrating with Monsieur Maffre, telling him that the 
Doctor Porquier was a religious man and a person of the 
highest integrity, and that no one was more pained than 
he himself by his son’s deplorable conduct. The magis¬ 
trate allowed that he had been too hot-headed, and he 
said that he was willing to make every apology as his 
reverence thought he had been in the wrong. 

“You must send your sons to me,” said the priest, 
“and I will talk to them.” 

Monsieur Maffre shook his head with a slight laugh. 

“Oh! you needn’t be afraid about them, your rever¬ 
ence. The young scamps won’t play any more of their 
tricks. They have been locked up in their rooms for 
these last three days with nothing but bread and water. 
If I had had a stick in my hand when I found out what 
they had been doing, I should have broken it across their 
backs.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


169 


The Abb6 looked at him and recollected how Mouret 
had accused him of having killed his wife by his harsh¬ 
ness and avarice; then, with a gesture of protestation, 
he added: 

“No, no; that is not the way to treat young men. 
Your elder son, Ambroise, is twenty years old and the 
younger is nearly eighteen, isn’t he? They are no 
longer children, remember. You must allow them some 
amusements. ” 

The magistrate was silent with surprise. 

“Then you would let them go on smoking and allow 
them to frequent the caf6?” he said, presently. 

“Certainly,” replied the priest, with a smile. “I 
think that young men should be allowed to meet together 
to talk and smoke their cigarettes and even to play a 
game of billiards or chess. They will give themselves 
every license if you show them no toleration. Only 
remember that it is not to every cafe that I should be 
willing for them to go. I should like to see a special 
one provided for them, a sort of club, as I have seen 
done in several towns." 

Then he unfolded a complete scheme for such a club. 
Monsieur Maffre seemed to gradually take it in and 
appreciate it. He nodded his head as he said: 

“Capital, capital! It would be a worthy pendant to 
the Home of the Virgin. Really, your reverence, we 
must put such a splendid idea as this into execution. ” 

“Well, then,” the priest concluded, as he accompanied 
Monsieur Maffre to the door, "since you approve of the 
plan, just advocate it to your friends. I will see Mon¬ 
sieur Delangre, and speak to him about it. We might 
meet in the cathedral on Sunday after vespers and come 
to some decision. ” 

On the Sunday, Monsieur Maffre brought Monsieur 
Rastoil with him. They found the Abb6 Faujas and 


170 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

Monsieur Delangre in a little room adjoining the sacris¬ 
ty. The gentlemen showed great enthusiasm in favor of 
the priest’s idea, and the institution of a young men’s 
club was agreed upon in principle. There was consider¬ 
able discussion, however, as to what it should be called. 
Monsieur Maffre was strongly wishful for it to be 
known as the Guild of Jesus. 

"Oh, no! no!” the priest at last cried impatiently. 
"You would get scarcely any one to join, and the few 
members would only be jeered at. There must be no 
attempt to tack religion onto the business; indeed, I 
intend that we should leave religion outside its doors 
altogether. All we want to do is to win the young peo¬ 
ple over to our side by providing them with some inno¬ 
cent recreation; that’s all." 

The magistrate gazed at the priest with such an expres¬ 
sion of astonishment and anxiety that Monsieur Delangre 
was obliged to bend his head down to conceal a smile, 
while he shyly pulled the Abba’s cassock. The priest 
went on in calmer tones: 

"I am sure, gentlemen, that you do not feel any dis¬ 
trust of me, and I ask you to leave the management of 
the matter in my hands. I propose to adopt some very 
simple name such a one, for instance, as the Young 
Men’s Club, which quite expresses all that is required." 

Monsieur Rastoil and Monsieur Maffre bowed, although 
this title seemed to them a little weak They next spoke 
of nominating the vicar as president of a provisional 
committee. 

"I fancy," said Monsieur Delangre, glancing at the 
priest, "that that will scarcely meet with his reverence’s 
approbation. ” 

"Oh dear, no! ” the Abb6 exclaimed, slightly shrug¬ 
ging his shoulders. "My cassock would frighten away 
the timid and luke-warm. We should only get the pious 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


171 


young people, and it is not for them that we are going 
to found our club. What we want is to gather in the 
wanderers; to win converts, in a word; isn’t that so?” 

“Clearly,” replied the president. 

“Very well, then, it will be better for us to keep our¬ 
selves in the background, myself especially. What I 
propose is this; your son, Monsieur Rastoil, and yours, 
Monsieur Delangre, will alone come forward. It must be 
they who must appear to have conceived the idea of this 
club. Send them to me in the morning, and I will talk 
the matter over at length with them. I have already a 
suitable building in my mind and a code of rules quite 
prepared. Your two sons, Monsieur Maffre, will natur¬ 
ally be enrolled at the head of the list of members." 

The president seemed flattered at the part that was 
assigned to his son; and so matters were arranged in 
this way, notwithstanding the resistance of the magis¬ 
trate, who had hoped to win some distinction from the 
founding of the club. The next day S£verin Rastoil and 
Lucien Delangre put themselves in communication 
with the Abb£ Faujas. S£verin was a tall young man 
of five-and-twenty, with a badly shaped skull and a dull 
brain, who had just been called to the bar, thanks to the 
position which his father held. The latter was anxiously 
dreaming of making him an assistant prosecutor, despair¬ 
ing of his ever succeeding in winning any practice for 
himself. Lucien, on the other hand, was short and sharp- 
eyed, and he had a crafty brain and pleaded with all the 
coolness of an old practitioner, although he was a year 
younger than S^verin. The “Plassans Gazette” spoke of 
him as a future light of the bar. It was especially to 
him that the Abb6 gave the minutest instructions as to 
his scheme. The president’s son went fussing about, 
bursting with importance. In three weeks the Young 
Men’s Club was founded and opened. 


172 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


Doctor Porquier heard of the solution of the Maffre 
affair imbroglio when he was in the garden of the Sub- 
Prefecture. He immediately hastened onto the terrace. 
It was the time when the Abb6 Faujas read his breviary. 
Doctor Porquier caught sight of him under the Mourets’ 
arbor. 

“Ah! your reverence! ” he cried, “how can I thank you? 
I should like very much to shake hands with you.” 

“The wall is rather high,” said the priest, looking at 
it with a smile. 

But Doctor Porquier was a man full of energy, and was 
not to be discouraged by obstacles. 

“Wait a moment!” he cried. “If your reverence will 
allow me, I will come round.” 

Then he disappeared. The Abb6, still smiling, bent 
his steps slowly toward the little door which opened 
into the Chevillottes alley. The doctor was already 
gently knocking at it. 

“Ah! this door is nailed up,” said the priest. “One 
of the nails is broken though. If one had any sort of 
tool, there would be no difficulty in getting the other 
one out.” 

He glanced round him and caught sight of a spade. 
Then, with a slight effort, he opened the door, after he 
had drawn back the bolts, and stepped out into the 
Chevillottes alley, where Doctor Porquier overwhelmed 
him with thanks and compliments. As they walked along 
the alley, talking, Monsieur Maffre, who happened at the 
time to be in Monsieur Rastoil’s garden, opened the 
little door that was hidden away behind the water-fall. 
The gentlemen were much amused to find themselves 
all three in this deserted little alley. 

They remained there for a few moments, and, when 
they took leave of the Abb6, the magistrate and the 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


173 


doctor poked their heads inside the Mourets’ garden, 
and looked about with curiosity. 

Mouret, however, who was putting in stakes for his 
tomatoes, caught sight of them as he raised his head. 
He was lost in astonishment. 

“Hallo! so they’ve made their way in here now! ” he 
murmured to himself. “The vicar has only got now to 
bring in the two tribes!” 


XIII 

Serge was now nineteen years of age. He occupied a 
small room on the second floor, opposite to the priest’s, 
where he led an almost cloistered life, spending much 
time in reading. 

"I shall have to throw those old books of yours into 
the fire,” Mouret said to him angrily. “You’ll end by 
making yourself ill and having to take to your bed.” 

The young man was, indeed, of such a nervous temper¬ 
ament, that the slightest imprudence brought on ail¬ 
ments in him which frequently confined him to his room 
for two or three days together. At these times Rose 
inundated him with decoctions, and when Mouret went 
upstairs to shake his son up a little, as he called it, the 
cook, if she happened to be there, would turn her mas¬ 
ter out of the room and cry out at him: 

“Leave the poor dear alone! Can’t you see that you 
are killing him with your rough ways? It isn’t after 
you that he takes; he is the very image of his mother; 
and you’ll never be able to understand either the one or 
the other of them." 

Serge smiled. His father, seeing him so delicate, had 
hesitated to send him to read for the bar at Paris after 
leaving college. He instilled ambitious ideas into the lad, 



174 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

and told him that many with much weaker wits than his 
own, his cousins, the Rougons, for instance, had attained 
to great distinction. Every time that the young man 
seemed getting more robust, his father settled that be 
should leave home early in the following month; but 
his trunk never got packed, for Serge would get a slight 
cough and then his departure would be again postponed. 

On each of these occasions Marthe contented herself 
by saying with affectionate indifference: 

"He isn’t twenty yet. It is really not quite prudent 
to send so young a lad to Paris; and, besides, he isn’t 
wasting his time here; you even think, you know, that 
he works too hard." 

Serge used to go with his mother to mass. He was very 
piously minded, and was very gentle and grave. Doctor 
Porquier had recommended him to take a good deal of 
exercise, and he had become enthusiastically fond of 
botany, going off on long rambles to collect specimens 
which he spent his afternoons in drying and mounting 
and classifying and naming. It was about that time that 
he struck up a great friendship with the Abb6 Faujas. 
The Abb6 had botanized in earlier days, and he gave 
Serge much practical advice for which the young man 
was very grateful. They lent each other books, and one 
day they went off together to try to discover a certain 
plant which the priest said he thought would be 
found in the neighborhood. When Serge was ill, his 
neighbor came to see him every morning, and he sat and 
talked for a long time at his bedside. At other times, 
when the young man was well, it was he who went and 
knocked at the Abbd Faujas’ door, as soon as he heard 
him stirring in his room. They were only separated by 
a narrow landing, and they ended by almost living to¬ 
gether. 

Serge naturally joined the Young Men’s Club, though he 


THE CONQUEST OF PL/tSS/iNS 


175 


went there but little, preferring the solitude of his own 
room. If it had not been for the Abbd Faujas, whom he 
sometimes met there, he would probably never have set 
his foot in the place. The Abb6 taught him to play chess 
in the reading-room. Mouret, who knew that the lad 
met the priest at the caf£, swore that he would pack him 
off by the train on the following Monday. His luggage 
was got ready, and quite seriously this time, when Serge, 
who had gone out to spend a last day in the open coun¬ 
try, returned home drenched to the skin by a sudden 
down-pour of rain. He was obliged to go to bed and 
his teeth chattered with fever. For three weeks he hung 
between life and death, and his convalescence lingered 
during two long months, and at the commencement of 
it he was so weak that he lay with his head on the pil¬ 
low and his arms stretched over the sheets like a wax 
figure. 

“It is your fault, sir!" cried the cook to Mouret. “You 
will have it on your conscience if the boy dies.” 

While his son continued in danger, Mouret wandered 
silently about the house, plunged in a gloomy melancholy, 
and with his eyes red with crying. He seldom went up 
stairs but paced up and down the passage, waiting to 
intercept the doctor as he went away. When he was 
told that Serge was at length out of danger, he glided 
quietly into his room and offered his help. But Rose 
turned him away. Then Mouret remained in complete 
loneliness downstairs, more melancholy and unoccupied 
than ever. He felt no inclination for anything, he said. 
As he went along the passage, he often heard on the 
second floor the voice of the Abb6 Faujas, who spent the 
whole afternoon by Serge’s bedside, now that he was 
growing better. 

"How is he, to-day, your reverence?” Mouret asked 
the priest timidly, as he met the latter going down into 
the garden. 


■ V 

176 THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/INS 

“Oh, fairly well; but it will be a long convalescence, 
and very great care will be required.” 

As his son’s convalescence progressed, he remarked 
that the priest scarcely ever left Serge’s room. He had 
gone upstairs several times in the women’s absence, 
and he had always found the Abbd at the young man’s 
bedside, talking softly to him, and rendering him all 
kinds of little services, sweetening his drink, straighten¬ 
ing his bedclothes, or getting him anything he happened 
to want. Mouret seemed to smell the odor of incense in 
the house, and he could almost fancy sometimes, as he 
heard the muttered voices, that they were saying mass 
upstairs. 

“What can they be doing?" he wondered. “The 
youngster is out of danger now; they can’t be giving him 
extreme unction." 

Serge himself caused him much disquiet. He looked 
like a girl as he lay in his white night-dress. His eyes 
seemed to have grown larger, and there was a soft ecstatic 
smile upon his lips, which still played there even in the 
midst of his keenest pangs of suffering. Mouret no 
longer ventured to say anything about Paris; his dear 
sick boy seemed too girlish and tender for such a sub¬ 
ject. 

One afternoon he went upstairs, carefully hushing the 
sound of his steps. Through the half-opened door he 
saw Serge sitting in an easy-chair in the sunshine. The 
young man was crying with his eyes turned up to the sky, 
while his mother was sobbing in front of him. As soon as 
Mouret entered the room, the invalid said to him in his 
feeble voice: 

“I have a favor to ask you, father. My mother says 
that you will be angry and will refuse me a permission 
which would fill me with joy. I want to enter the Sem¬ 
inary.” 






THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 177 

He clasped his hands together in a sort of feverish 
devotion. 

"You! you!” exclaimed Mouret. 

He looked at Marthe, who turned away her head. He 
said nothing further, but walked to the window and then 
returned and sat down mechanically by the side of the 
bed, as though overwhelmed by some blow. 

“Father,” Serge resumed after a long silence, “in my 
nearness to death I have seen God, and I have sworn to 
be His. I assure you all my happiness is centered in 
that. Believe me that it is so, and do not cause me 
grief." 

Mouret still kept silence. His face was very somber 
and his eyes sought the ground. At last, with an ex¬ 
pression of utter hopelessness, he murmured: 

“If I had the least particle of courage, I should wrap 
up a couple of shirts in a handkerchief and go away.” 

Then he rose from his seat, went to the window and 
began to drum on the panes with his fingers; and when 
Serge again commenced to implore him, he said very 
quietly: 

“Very well, my boy; be a priest." 

Then he left the room. The next day, without the 
least warning to any one, he set off for Marseilles, where 
he spent a week with his son Octave. He came back 
looking care-worn and aged. Octave had afforded him 
very little consolation. He had found the young man 
leading a fast life, overwhelmed with debt and hiding 
his mistresses in wardrobes. However, he did not say 
a word about these matters. He began to lead a per¬ 
fectly sedentary life, and no longer made any of those 
good strokes of business, those fortunate purchases of 
standing crops, in which he had formerly taken such a 
pride. Rose noticed that he maintained an almost un- 
12 


178 THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/tNS 

broken silence and that he even avoided saluting the 
Abb6 Faujas. 

Then Mouret went up to the first floor, and shut him¬ 
self up in a room which he called his study, a great bare 
room, furnished only with a table and a couple of chairs. 
This room became his refuge at the times when the cook 
worried him. Every day his wife was withdrawing her¬ 
self more and more from what concerned him, and she 
even began to fancy, now that the house seemed so quiet 
and peaceful and she had ceased to hear Mouret scold¬ 
ing angrily, that he had grown more reasonable and had 
discovered for himself, as she had done, some little nook 
of happiness. This thought had a calming influence upon 
her, and tended to plunge her more deeply in her dreamy 
life. When her husband looked at her with his troubled 
eyes, scarcely recognizing in her his wife of other days, 
she only smiled at him and did not notice the tears 
which were swelling beneath his eyelids. 

On the day that Serge, now completely restored to 
health, entered the Seminary, Mouret remained at home 
alone with D6sir£e. He frequently kept her with him now. 
This great girl, who was now nearly sixteen, would have 
been as likely to fall into the basin of the fountain or 
to set the house on fire by playing with matches as a 
child of six. When Marthe returned home, she found 
the doors open and the rooms empty. The house seemed 
quite deserted. She went down onto the terrace, and 
there, at the end of one of the walks, she saw her hus¬ 
band playing with his daughter. He was sitting on the 
ground upon the gravel, and was gravely filling with a 
little wooden scoop a cart which D6sir£e was pulling with 
a piece of string. 

“Gee up! gee up!” cried the girl. 

“Wait a little," said her father patiently, “it is not 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 179 

full yet. As you are the horse, you must wait till the cart 
is full.” 

Then she scraped her feet like an impatient horse and 
at last, not being able to stand still any longer, she set 
off with a loud burst of laughter. The cart fell over and 
lost its load. When she had dragged it round the gar¬ 
den, she came back to her father, crying out: 

“Fill it again! Fill it again!” 

Mouret loaded it again with the little scoop. Marthe 
had remained upon the terrace watching them, filled with 
uneasy emotion. The open doors, the sight of the man 
playing with the child, the empty deserted house, all 
touched her with a feeling of sadness, without her be¬ 
ing clearly conscious of what it was that was affecting 
her. She went upstairs to take off her things, and heard 
Rose, who had also just then returned, exclaiming from 
the terrace steps: 

“Good gracious! how silly the master is!” 

His friends, the retired traders with whom he took a 
turn or two every day on the promenade in the Cours 
Sauvaire, declared that he was a little “touched.” Dur¬ 
ing the last few months his hair had grown grizzled, 
and he had begun to get shaky upon his legs, and he was 
no longer the biting jeerer, feared by the whole town. 
For a little time it was thought that he had been ventur¬ 
ing upon some risky speculation and was overcome by a 
heavy loss of money. 

Madame Paloque, as she leaned against the window of 
her dining-room which looked into the Rue Balande, 
said, every time she saw him, that he was certainly going 
to the bad. And if, a few minutes later, she happened 
to catch sight of the Abb6 Faujas passing along the street, 
she took a delight in exclaiming, the more especially if 
she had visitors with her: 

“Just look at his reverence, the vicar! Isn’t he grow- 


180 


THE CONQUEST OF PL/tSS/tNS 


ing sleek? If he eats out of the same dish as Mouret, 
he can’t leave him anything but the bones.” 

Then she laughed, as did those who heard her. The 
Abb6 Faujas was, indeed, becoming quite an imposing 
object; he now always wore black gloves and a shimmer¬ 
ing cassock. A peculiar smile played about his face, a 
sort of ironical twist of his lips, when Madame de Con- 
damin complimented him upon his appearance. Since 
the foundation of the Home of the Virgin, all the women 
had been on his side; and they defended him against 
the calumnious stories which were still occasionally re¬ 
peated, without anyone being able to clearly get at 
their origin. Now and then they found him a little 
blunt, but this roughness of his by no means offended 
them, least of all in the confessional, where they rather 
liked to feel his iron hand pressing down upon their necks. 

"He gave me such a scolding yesterday, my dear,” 
Madame Condamin said to Marthe one day. "I believe 
he would have struck me if there had not been the par¬ 
tition between us. He is not always very easy to get 
on with!” 

She laughed gently and seemed to be enjoying the 
recollection of this scene with her director. 

When the Abb6 Faujas had founded the Young Men’s 
Club, he became quite sociable and gay; he seemed to 
have undergone a transformation. His stern nature 
molded itself like soft wax beneath the pressure of a 
strong effort of his will. He allowed the part which 
he had taken in the founding of the club to be made pub¬ 
lic, and he became the friend of all the young men in 
the town, and he kept a strict watch over his manner, 
knowing well that young men just fresh from college 
have not the same taste for roughness of speech and de¬ 
meanor as women have. 

Though the Abb6 had conquered the women and the 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


181 


young men, the elderly gentlemen continued to distrust 
him as they saw him still refraining from identifying 
himself with any political party. At the Sub-Prefecture 
Monsieur P£queur des Saulaies discussed him with much 
animation, while Monsieur Delangre, without positively 
defending him, said that they ought to wait before judg¬ 
ing him. At Monsieur RastoiPs he had become a source 
of much tribulation to the president. S6verin and his 
mother never ceased wearying him with their constant 
eulogies of the priest. 

Monsieur Rastoil shrugged his shoulders. When Mon¬ 
sieur de Bourdeu was there, the pair of them accused 
the Abb6 Faujas of leanings toward the Sub-Prefecture 
though Madame Rastoil directed their attention to the 
fact that he never dined there, and that he had never 
even set foot in the house. 

“Oh, don’t imagine that I am accusing him of being a 
Bonapartist,” said the president. “I only remarked that 
he had leanings that way; that was all. He has had 
communications with Monsieur Delangre.” 

“Well! and so have you!” cried S6verin; “you have 
had communications with the mayor! They are absolutely 
necessary under certain circumstances. Tell the truth 
and say you detest the Abb6 Faujas; it will be much 
more straightforward. ” 

Sdverin now began to go and knock at the little door 
in the Chevillottes alley whenever he wanted to say any¬ 
thing to the priest, and gradually the alley became a 
sort of neutral ground. Doctor Porquier, who had been 
the first to avail himself of it, young Delangre, and 
the magistrate, all came there to talk to the Abb6 Faujas. 
Sometimes the little doors of both the gardens, as well 
as the cart-entrance to the Sub-Prefecture, were kept 
open for a whole afternoon, while the Abbd was lean¬ 
ing against the wall at the end of the blind alley smil- 


183 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


ing and shaking hands with the members of the two 
groups of guests who were wishful to come and have a 
word with him. Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies, how¬ 
ever, carefully refrained from leaving the garden of the 
Sub-Prefecture; and Monsieur Rastoil and Monsieur de 
Bourdeu were equally persistent in never showing them¬ 
selves in the alley, remaining seated beneath trees in 
front of the waterfall. It was but very seldom that the 
priest’s little court invaded the Mourets’ arbor. Now 
and then a head just peeped inside, took a hasty glance 
round and quickly disappeared. 

The Abb6 Faujas now seemed quite at ease. He scarce¬ 
ly ever glanced with a look of disquietude at the windows 
of the Trouches, through which Olympe’s eyes were con¬ 
stantly glistening. The Trouches kept themselves in am¬ 
bush there behind the crimson curtains, consumed by an 
envious desire to come down like the Abb6 and eat 
the fruit, and talk to the fashionable society. 

"It is really too abominable! ” Olympe exclaimed one 
day to her husband. “He would lock us up in a cupboard if 
he could, so as to deprive us of every atom of enjoyment. 
We will go down if you like, and we will see what he 
says. ” 

Trouche had just returned from his office. He put on 
a clean collar and dusted his boots, anxious to make him¬ 
self as neat as possible. Olympe put on a light dress, 
and then they both boldly went downstairs into the gar¬ 
den, walking with short steps along the tall hedges f 
box and stopping in front of the flower-beds. 

Just at that moment the Abb£ Faujas happened to have 
his back turned to them. He was standing at the little door 
that opened into the alley, talking to Monsieur Maffre. 
When he heard their steps grating upon the gravel, the 
Trouches had got up close behind him and were under¬ 
neath the arbor. He turned round, and checked him- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


183 


self in the middle of a sentence, quite astounded at see¬ 
ing them there. Monsieur Maffre, who did not know 
them, was looking at them with curiosity. 

“A beautiful day, isn’t it, gentlemen?" said Olympe, 
who had turned pale beneath her brother’s gaze. 

The Abb6 abruptly dragged the magistrate into the 
alley, where he quickly freed himself from him. 

“He is furious! " murmured Olympe. “Well, we had 
better stay where we are now. If we go back upstairs, 
he will think we are afraid of him. I’ve had quite 
enough of this kind of going-on, and you will see what 
I will say to him.” 

She made Trouche sit down on one of the chairs 
which Rose had brought out a short time previously. 
When the Abbd returned he found them tranquilly settled 
there. He pushed the bolts of the little door into their 
sockets, glanced quickly round to assure himself that 
the trees screened them from observation, and then he 
came close up to the Trouches, exclaiming in suppressed 
tones: 

“You forget our agreement. You undertook to remain 
in your own rooms.” 

"It was too hot up there," Olympe replied. “We are 
not committing any crime by coming down here to get 
a little fresh air." 

The priest was going to break out angrily, when his 
sister, who was still quite pale from the effort she had 
made in resisting him, added in a peculiar tone: 

“Don’t make a noise, now! There are some people 
over there, and you might do yourself harm.” 

Both the Trouches laughed slightly. The Abb6 fixed 
his eyes upon them with a terrible expression, but with¬ 
out speaking. 

“Sit down,” said Olympe. “You want an explanation, 
don’t you? Well, you shall have one. We are tired of 




184 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


imprisoning ourselves. You are living here in clover; the 
house seems to belong to you, and so does the garden. 
So much the better indeed; and we are delighted to see 
how well things appear to be going with you, but you 
mustn't treat us as dirt beneath your feet. You have nev¬ 
er thought of bringing me up a single bunch of grapes; 
you have given us the most miserable room, you hide us 
away and are ashamed of us; and you shut us up as 
though we had the plague. You must understand that 
this can't go on any longer!” 

"I am not the master here,” replied the Abb6 Faujas, 
“You must address yourselves to Monsieur Mouret if you 
want to strip his garden.” 

"We don't want to pry into your affairs,” Olympe con¬ 
tinued. "We know what we know, and that is sufficient 
for us. But all this proves what a bad heart you have. 
Do you think if we Were in your position we shouldn't 
invite you to come and take your share in the good 
things that were going?” 

"What is it that you want me to do?” demanded the 
Abb6. "Do you suppose that I am rolling in wealth? 
You know what sort of a room I occupy myself; it is 
more scantily furnished than your own. The house isn’t 
mine and I can’t bestow it upon you." 

Olympe shrugged her shoulders. She silenced her 
husband who was beginning to speak, and then she calm¬ 
ly continued: 

"Everyone has his own ideas of life. If you had mill¬ 
ions you wouldn’t buy a strip of carpet for your bed¬ 
side; you would spend them all on some foolish scheme. 
We, on the other hand, like to be comfortable. Dare 
you say that if you had a fancy for the handsomest fur¬ 
niture in the house and for the linen and food and any¬ 
thing else it contains you couldn’t have them this very 
evening? Well, in such circumstances a good brother 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSJNS 


185 


would think of his relations, and wouldn't leave them 
in wretchedness and squalor as you leave us! ” 

The Abb6 Faujas looked keenly at the Trouches. They 
were both swaying themselves backward and forward 
upon their chairs. 

“You are a couple of ungrateful people,” he said after 
a moment's silence. “I have already done a great deal 
for you. You have me to thank for the food that you 
have now. I still have letters of yours, Olympe, letters 
in which you beseech me to rescue you from want 
by bringing you over to Plassans. Now that you are 
here and your livelihood is assured, you break out into 
fresh demands.” 

“Stuff!” Trouche impudently interrupted. “You sent for 
us here because you wanted us. I have learned to my 
cost not to believe in anyone’s fine ta*lk. I have allowed 
my wife to speak, but women can never come to the 
point. In two words, my good friend, you are making a 
mistake in keeping us cooped up like watch-dogs, who 
are only brought out in the hour of danger. We are 
getting weary of it, and we shall end by doing something 
rash, perhaps. Confound it all, give us a little liberty. 
Since the house isn’t yours and you despise all luxury, 
what harm can it do you if we make ourselves comfort¬ 
able? We shan’t eat the walls!” 

“It's only natural,” exclaimed Olympe, "that we should 
rebel against being constantly locked up. We will take 
care not to do anything to prejudice you. Go your own 
way, and you may depend upon us; but let us go ours. 
Is that understood, eh?” 

The Abbd Faujas had bent his head down; he remained 
silent for a moment, and then, raising his eyes, and 
avoiding a direct reply, he said: 

"Hearken to what I say. If ever you do anything to 


186 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


hamper me, I swear to you that I will send you away to 
starve in a cellar.” 

Then he went back into the house, leaving them under 
the arbor. From this time the Trouches went down into 
the garden almost every day, but they conducted them¬ 
selves with considerable discretion, and they refrained 
from going there at the times when the priest was talk¬ 
ing with the guests from the neighboring gardens. 

The following week Olympe complained so much of 
the room she was occupying that Marthe kindly offered 
her Serge’s, which was now unoccupied. The Trouches 
kept both rooms. They slept in the young man’s old 
bedroom, from which not a single article of furniture had 
been removed, and they made the other room into a sort 
of drawing-room, for which Rose found them some old 
velvet-covered furniture in the lumber-room. Olympe in 
great delight ordered a rose-colored dressing-gown from 
the best maker in Plassans. 

Mouret, who had forgotten that Marthe had asked his 
permission to let the Trouches have Serge’s room, was 
quite surprised to find them there one evening. He had 
gone up to look for a knife which he thought his son 
must have left in one of the drawers, and, as he entered 
the room, he saw Trouche trimming with this very knife 
a switch which he had iust cut from one of the pear- 
trees in the garden. Then he apologized and went down 
stairs again. 


XIV 

During the public procession of the Feast of Corpus 
Christi, when Monseigneur Rousselot came down the 
steps of the magnificent altar in the Place of the Sub¬ 
prefecture which had been setup through the generosity 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


187 


of Madame de Condamin. by the very door of the small 
house which she occupied, it was noticed with much sur¬ 
prise by the spectators that the bishop abruptly turned 
his back upon the Abb6 Faujas. 

“Ah! has there been some disagreement between them?” 
exclaimed Madame Rougon, who was looking out of her 
drawing-room window. 

“Didn’t you know about it?” asked Paloque, who was 
leaning by the old lady’s side. “It has been the talk of 
the town since yesterday. The Abb£ Fenil has been 
restored to favor.” 

Monsieur de Condamin, who was standing behind the 
ladies, began to laugh. He had made his escape from 
his own house, saying it smelt like a church. 

“If you believe all the stories you hear!” he said. 
‘The bishop is nothing but an old weather-cock, turning 
one way or the other according as Faujas or Fenil blows 
against him; to-day it is one of them, to-morrow it will 
be the other. They have quarreled and made it up 
again, half a score times at least. Before three days 
are over, you will see that it will be Faujas who will be 
the pet again.” 

“I don’t believe it,” exclaimed Madame Paloque; “it is 
serious this time. It seems that the Abb6 Faujas has 
caused his lordship great unpleasantness. His lordship 
has received reproachful letters from Rome, in which he 
is recommended to be on his guard. It is said that the 
Abb£ Faujas is a political agent.” 

“Who says so?” asked Mdaame Rougon. 

“I have heard it said, I really don’t remember by 
whom," the judge’s wife replied carelessly. 

Monsieur de Condamin whispered in Madame Rou¬ 
gon’s. ear: 

“I have already seen her twice going to the Abb^ Fen¬ 
il’s. They have got some plot or other in hand, I :m 


188 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


sure. The Abbd Faujas must have trodden somehow or 
other upon this viper of a woman, and she is trying to 
bite him. If she were not so ugly I would do her the 
service of telling her that heir husband will never be 
president." 

"Why? I don’t understand," the old lady murmured, 
with a guileless expression. 

Monsieur de Condamin looked at her curiously, and 
then he began to smile. 

The last two gendarmes in the procession had just dis¬ 
appeared round the corner of the Cours Sauvaire, and 
the few guests whom Madame Rougon had invited to 
come and witness the blessing of the altar returned into 
the drawing-room and chatted about the bishop’s charm¬ 
ing manner and the new banners of the different congre¬ 
gations, especially the one belonging to the young girls 
of the Home of the Virgin, which had attracted much 
attention. The ladies were loud in their praises, and 
the Abb6 Faujas’ name was mentioned every moment 
in the most eulogistic terms. 

"He is clearly a saint!” Madame Paloque sniggered to 
Monsieur de Condamin, who had taken a seat near her. 

Then, bending forward toward him, she added: 

"I could not speak openly before Madame Rougon, you 
know, but there is a great deal of talk about the Abb£ 
Faujas and Madame Mouret." 

"Madame Mouret is a charming woman, and extremely 
winning notwithstanding her forty years,” was all that 
Monsieur de Condamin said in reply. 

"Oh, yes! she is very charming, very charming, indeed," 
Madame Paloque murmured, while her face turned 
quite green with envy. 

"Extremely charming," persisted the conservator of 
rivers and forests. "She is at the age of genuine pas- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


189 


sions and great happiness. You ladies are given to judg¬ 
ing each other unfavorably.” 

Then he left the drawing-room, chuckling over Ma¬ 
dame Paloque’s suppressed rage. 

On the Tuesday after the public procession, the 
weather was lovely. The sound of laughter was heard 
in the gardens of the Rastoils and the Sub-Prefect, and 
in both of them there were numerous guests sitting 
under the trees. The Abb£ Faujas was reading his 
breviary in the Mourets’ garden after his usual custom, 
as he walked slowly backward and forward along the 
tall hedges of box. For some days past he had kept the 
little door that led to the alley bolted; he was coquetting 
with his neighbors and holding himself aloof that he might 
make them more anxious to see him. It was possible 
that he had noticed a slight coldness in their manner 
after his last misunderstanding with the bishop and the 
abominable reports that his enemies circulated against 
him. 

About five o’clock, as the sun was sinking, the Abbd 
Surin proposed a game of shuttlecock to Monsieur Ras- 
toil’s daughters. He was very clever at it himself. 
Notwithstanding the approach of their thirtieth year, 
Ang61ine and Aur£lie were immensely fond of games, 
and their mother would have made them still wear short 
frocks if she had dared. When the servant brought the 
battledoors, the Abb6 Surin, who was looking about for 
a shady spot, for the garden was flooded with the last 
rays of the sun, was struck with an idea of which the 
young ladies cordially approved. 

“Shall we go and play in the Chevillottes alley?" he 
said. "We shall be shaded by the chestnut-trees,• and 
we shall have a longer stretch.” 

They went out of the garden and commenced a most 
delightful game. The two girls began. Ang^line was 


190 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


the first to fail to keep the shuttlecock up. The Abb6 
Surin, who took her place, handled his battledoor with 
quite a professional skill and ease. Every time that the 
Abb6 Faujas raised his eyes from his breviary as he 
paced about the Mourets , garden, he saw the white 
feathers of the shuttlecock skimming above the wall 
like a huge butterfly. 

“Are you there, your reverence? ” cried Angdline, going 
and knocking at the little door. “Our shuttlecock has 
fallen into your garden. ” 

The Abb£, picking up the shuttlecock which had 
dropped at his feet, made up his mind to open the door. 
“Oh, thank you! your reverence,” said Aurdlie, who 
had already taken the battledoor. “It is only Angdline 
who would ever make such a stroke. The other day 
when papa was watching us she sent it right against his 
ear, and with such a bang that he was quite deaf till the 
next day.” 

There was more laughter at this; and the Abbd Surin, 
who was as rosy as a girl, delicately wiped his brow 
with gentle touches of a handkerchief of fine texture. 

The Abb6 Faujas, holding his breviary under his arm 
and smiling paternally, stood on the threshold of the lit¬ 
tle door. Through the half-opened cart-entrance of the 
Sub-Prefecture he could see Monsieur P£queur des Sau- 
laies sitting in front of the cascade surrounded by his 
friends. He looked straight in front of him, however, 
and counted the points of the game, complimenting the 
Abbd Surin and consoling the young ladies. 

“I tell you what, P^queur,” Monsieur de Condamin 
whispered pleasantly into the sub-prefect's ear, "you 
make a mistake in not inviting this little Abbd to your 
parties. He is a great favorite with the ladies, and he 
looks as though he could waltz to perfection.” 

But Monsieur Pdqueur des Saulaies, who was talking 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


101 


to Monsieur Delangre with much animation, did not ap¬ 
pear to hear what Monsieur de Condamin said, and he 
went on with his conversation with the mayor. 

“Really, my dear sir,” he said, “I don’t know where 
you see all the merits that you profess to find in him. 
On the contrary, indeed, the Abb£ Faujas appears to 
me to be a very doubtful character. I really don’t see 
why I should go down on my knees to this priest, espe¬ 
cially as the clergy of Plassans are hostile to us. I 
should gain no advantage by doing so.” 

Monsieur Delangre and Monsieur de Condamin ex¬ 
changed glances of intelligence. 

“None, whatever,” continued the sub-prefect. "It is 
no use your pretending to look mysterious; I may tell 
you that I have myself written to Paris. I was a good 
deal bothered and I wanted to be quite certain about 
this Faujas, whom you seem to consider as a sort of 
prince in disguise. Well! do you know what reply I got? 
They told me that they did not know him and could tell 
me nothing about him whatever, and that 1 must carefully 
avoid mixing myself up with clerical matters. They are 
grumpy enough up in Paris, as it is, since the election 
of that ass of a Lagrifoul, and I have got to be prudent, 
you understand." 

The mayor exchanged another glance with the conserv¬ 
ator of rivers and forests. He even slightly shrugged 
his shoulders before the scrupulously correct mustaches 
of Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies. 

“Just listen to me,” he said to him after a moment’s 
silence; “you would like to be prefect, wouldn’t you?” 

The sub-prefect smiled as he rocked himself in his 
chair. 

“Well, then, go at once, and shake hands with the 
Abbd Faujas, who is waiting for you down there, while 
he is watching them play at shuttlecock.” 


192 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


Monsieur Pdqueur des Saulaies was silent with aston¬ 
ishment. He seemed quite puzzled. Then he turned to¬ 
ward Monsieur de Condamin, and asked with some show 
of uneasiness: 

“Is that your advice also?” 

“Certainly; go and offer him your hand,” replied the 
conservator of rivers and forests. 

Then, with a slight touch of irony, he added: 

“Go and consult my wife, in whom I know you have 
perfect confidence.” 

Madame de CondaminTad just come up to them. She 
was wearing a lovely rose and a pearl-gray dress. When 
they spoke to her of the Abb£, she said playfully to the 
sub-prefect: 

“It is very wrong of you to neglect your religious du¬ 
ties; one never sees you at church except when there is 
some official ceremony. What sort of an opinion do 
you expect people will have of the government you rep¬ 
resent, when they see you are not on the side of religion? 
—Leave us, gentlemen; I am going to confess Monsieur 
P£queur. ” 

She took a seat, smiling playfully. 

“Octavie,” said the sub-prefect, when they were left 
alone together, “don’t make fun of me. You weren’t a 
very pious person in the Rue du Helder in Paris. It’s 
all I can do to keep from laughing when I see you wor¬ 
shiping in Saint-Saturnin’s. ” 

“You are too flippant, my friend,” she replied, “and 
your flippancy will play you a bad turn one of these days. 
Seriously, you quite distress me. I gave you credit for 
having more intelligence. Are you so blind that you 
cannot see that you are tottering in your position? Let 
me tell you that it is only from fear of alarming the 
Legitimists in Plassans that you haven’t been already 
overthrown. If they saw a new sub-prefect arriving 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


193 


here, the Legitimists would take alarm, while, so long 
as you remain where you are, they will continue quietly 
asleep, feeling certain of victory at the next election. 
All this is not very flattering to you, I am quite aware, 
and the more so as I know for an absolute fact that the 
authorities are acting without taking you into their coun¬ 
sels. Listen to me, my friend, I tell you that you are 
ruined if you don’t divine certain things.” 

He looked at her with unfeigned alarm. 

"Has the 'great man’ been writing to* you?” he asked 
referring to a personage whom they thus designated be¬ 
tween themselves. 

‘‘No; he has broken entirely with me. I am not a fool, 
and I saw, before he did so, the necessity of this sepa¬ 
ration. And I have nothing at all to complain of. He 
has shown me the greatest kindness. He found me a 
husband and gave me some excellent advice which has 
proved extremely useful to me. But I have retained 
some friends in Paris; and I swear to you that you have 
only just got time left to cling on to the branches if you 
don’t want to fall. Don’t be a pagan any longer, but 
go and offer your hand to the Abb6 Faujas. ” 

Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies drooped his eyes and 
seemed a little humiliated by the lesson he was getting. 
He was a great fop, and he showed his white teeth, as 
he tried to reassert himself by murmuring tenderly: 

‘‘Ah! if you had only been willing, Octavie, we might 
have governed Plassans between us. I asked you to re¬ 
sume that delightful life—” 

‘‘Really, you are a great idiot! ” she interrupted in 
tones of vexation. "You annoy me with your 'Octavie . 9 
I am Madame de Condamin to everyone, my friend. Can 
you understand nothing? I have an income of thirty 
thousand francs; I am queen of a whole Sub-Prefecture; 

I go everywhere; I am respected everywhere, bowed to 


194 THE CONQUEST OP PLASSANS 

and liked. What in the world should I want with you? 
You would only pull me down. I am a respectable 
woman, my friend.” 

She rose from her seat and walked toward Doctor Por- 
quier, who, according to his usual custom, had come to 
spend an hour in the garden for a chat with his fair 
patients, after a round of visits. 

"Oh, doctor!” she exclaimed with one of her pretty 
grimaces, "I have got a headache. It pains me just here, 
under the left eyebrow." 

‘That is the side of the heart, madame," said the 
doctor gallantly. 

Madame de Condamin smiled and did not push the 
consultation any further. Madame Paloque bent toward 
her husband, whom she brought with her every time she 
came that she might constantly recommend him to the 
sub-prefect’s influence, and whispered in his ear: 

"That’s the only way he has of curing them.” 

When Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies had rejoined Mon¬ 
sieur de Condamin and Monsieur Delangre he maneuvered 
cleverly to draw them toward the cart-entrance. When 
he had got within a few yards of it, he stopped and 
appeared to be interested in the game of shuttlecock 
which was still going on in the alley. The Abb6 Surin, 
saw that they were being watched, and he quite surpassed 
himself in his play. Mademoiselle Aurelie was also 
playing very well, spurred on by having such a master 
of the game for a partner. 

"Excellent! excellent!” cried the charmed sub-pre¬ 
fect. 

"Ah! your reverence, I must compliment you upon 
your skill." 

Then, turning toward Madame de Condamin, Doctor 
Porquer and the Paloques, he exclaimed: 

"I’ve really never seen anything like it before. Your 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 195 

reverence does not object to our admiring your play, I 
hope?” 

All the visitors to the Sub-Prefecture now formed 
themselves into a group at the end of the blind-alley. 
The Abb6 Faujas had not moved from the position he 
had taken up, and he acknowledged by a slight nod the 
salutations of Monsieur Delangre and Monsieur de Con- 
damin. He was still counting the game. WhenAur£lie 
missed the shuttlecock, he said with a smile: 

"That makes you three hundred and ten since the dis¬ 
tance was altered; your sister is only forty-seven.’ 

While he appeared to follow the flight of the shuttle¬ 
cock with an absorbing interest he continued every now 
and then to glance at the door of the Rastoils’ garden 
which still remained wide open. Monsieur Maffre was 
as yet the only person who had shown himself there. 
A voice called to him from inside the garden. 

"What is it that is amusing them so much out there?” 
Monsieur Rastoil, who was talking to Monsieur de Bour- 
deu by the rustic table, asked him. 

"His lordship’s secretary is playing at shuttlecock," 
Monsieur Maffre replied. "He is making some wonder¬ 
ful strokes and they are all watching him. His rever¬ 
ence the vicar is there, and seems quite delighted.” 

Monsieur de Bourdeu took a big pinch of snuff as he 
exclaimed: 

"Ah! his reverence the Abb£ Faujas is there, is 
he?” 

He glanced at Monsieur Rastoil and they both seemed 
ill at ease. 

"I have heard," the president hazarded, "that the Abb^ 
has been restored to his lordship’s favor.” 

"Yes, indeed; this very morning,” said Monsieur Maf¬ 
fre. "There has been a complete reconciliation, and I 
have heard the most touching details. His lordship 


196 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSHNS 


shed tears. Ah, there can be no doubt that the Abbd 
Fenil has been mistaken.” 

“I thought that you were the vicar-general’s friend,” 
observed Monsieur de Bourdeu. 

“So I am, but I am also his reverence the vicar’s 
friend,” the magistrate replied with animation. “Thank 
goodness! he is a man of sufficient piety to be able to 
despise all the calumnies that may be uttered against 
him. They haven’t even stuck at attacking his moral¬ 
ity! It is disgraceful! ” 

The former prefect again glanced at the president 
with a singular expression. 

' And they’ve tried to compromise him in political mat¬ 
ters," Monsieur Maffre continued. “They said that he 
had come here to overturn everything, to bestow places 
right and left and to bring about the triumph of the 
Paris clique! " 

Monsieur de Bourdeu was drawing a face on the gravel 
of the walk with the end of his stick. 

“Yes," he said carelessly, “I have heard these things 
mentioned. It is very unlikely that a minister of relig¬ 
ion would allow himself to play such a part; and, to the 
honor of Plassans, I think it may be said that he would 
fail completely. There is no one who could be bought.” 

Oh! it’s all stuff and nonsense, that!" cried the presi¬ 
dent, shrugging his shoulders. A town can’t be turned 
inside out like an old coat. Paris may send us as many 
spies and agents as she likes, but Plassans will always 
keep Legitimist. Look at that little Pdqueur now! 
We’ve only made a single mouthful of him! Folks must 
be very stupid to believe in mysterious personages run¬ 
ning about the provinces hawking places and appoint¬ 
ments. I should be very curious to see one of these 
gentlemen." 

He seemed to be getting a little angry, and Monsieur 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


197 


Maffre with some show of uneasiness, appeared to think 
it necessary to defend himself. 

“Pardon me,” he exclaimed. “I have never asserted 
that his reverence, the Abb6 Faujas, was a Bonapartist 
agent; on the contrary, I have always considered the 
accusation a most absurd one.” 

“Ah! it's not a question of the Abb6 Faujas. My re¬ 
marks are quite general. The Abb6 Faujas is quite 
above all suspicion. 

Then there was an interval of silence. Monsieur de 
Bourdeu finished the face he was drawing on the gravel 
by adding a long pointed beard to it. 

“The Abb6 Faujas has no political views,” at last he 
said in his dry voice. 

“Evidently,” Monsieur Rastoil replied; “we have found 
fault with him for his indifference, but now I approve 
of it. With all this gossip in the air, it would have had 
a prejudicial effect upon religion. You know as well as 
I do, Bourdeu, that he can’t be accused of the slightest 
suspicious step. He has never been seen at the Sub- 
Prefecture, has he? If he were a Bonapartist, he would 
not be likely to conceal the fact, would he?” 

“Certainly not.” 

The merriment in the alley was now ouder than ever. 
Monsieur Rastoil, who had checked himself for a mo¬ 
ment, now continued with a smile: 

“Just listen to them! It makes one quite long to be 
young again! ” 

Then, in more serious tones, he added: 

“Yes, my wife and my son have made me feel a strong 
liking for the Abb6 Faujas; and we are very sorry that 
his discreet reserve keeps him from joining our circle." 

As Monsieur Bourdeu nodded his head approvingly, 
shouts of applause were heard in the alley. There was 
a perfect uproar of clapping of hands and ringing laugh- 


198 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


ter and shouts, as though some troop of school-boys had 
just rushed out to play; Monsieur Rastoil got up from 
his rustic chair. 

“Good gracious!” he said with a smile; “let us go and 
see what they are doing. My legs are beginning to feel 
a little cramped.” 

The other two followed him, and they all three went 
and stood by the little door. It was the first time that 
the president and the ex-prefect had ventured so far. 
When they saw the group formed by the guests of the 
sub-prefect at the end of the alley, their faces assumed 
a serious expression. Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies 
drew himself up and put on an official attitude. Ma¬ 
dame de Condamin was flitting up and down the alley 
with constant laughs and smiles and filling it with the 
rustle of her rose-colored dress. The two sets of guests 
kept glancing at each other, neither party being willing 
to retire, while the Abbd Faujas still maintained his po¬ 
sition between them at the Mourets’ door, and was qui¬ 
etly enjoying himself without seeming to be in the least 
degree conscious of the delicacy of the situation. 

All the spectators were holding their breath, for the 
Abb6 Surin, seeing that their number had increased, was 
desirous of extorting their applause by a last exhibition 
of skill. He brought all his science into play, made 
difficulties for himself on purpose to overcome them, 
turned himself round and struck at the shuttlecock with¬ 
out looking where it was coming, but seeming able to 
divine its position, and sending it back to Mademoiselle 
Aur^lie over his head with a mathematical precision. 
He accelerated the rapidity of his play, and at last, as 
he was jumping aside, his foot slipped and he nearly fell 
upon the bosom of Madame de Condamin, who had 
stretched out her arms with a little cry. The spectators 
thinking he was hurt, rushed up, but the Abb6, pressing 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSAHS 


190 

the ground with his hands and knees, suddenly sprang 
up again by a strong effort and sent the shuttlecock, 
which had not yet fallen, spinning back to Mademoiselle 
Aur^lie and then he gave his battledoor a triumphant 
flourish. 

"Bravo! bravo!” cried Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies, 
stepping up to him. 

"Bravo! it was a magificent stroke!” exclaimed Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil, who also came up. 

The game was interrupted, for the two sets of guests 
had invaded the alley, and they were mixing with each 
other, and crowding round the Abbd Surin, who was 
leaning, quite out of breath, against the wall by the Abb6 
Faujas’ side. Everybody was talking at once. 

"I was afraid that he had hurt himself badly, ” Doctor 
Porquier said to Monsieur Maffre, in a voice that was 
full of emotion. 

Madame de Condamin went from the sub-prefect to 
the president and brought them together, and then ex¬ 
claimed: 

"Really, I am worse for it than he is! I thought that 
we were going to fall together. There is a great stone 
there; did you notice it?” 

"Yes, I see it there,” said Monsieur Rastoil; "it must 
have caught against his heel.” 

"Was it this round stone, do you think?” asked Mon¬ 
sieur P^queur des Saulaies, picking up a pebble. 

They had never spoken to each other before, except on 
the occasions of official ceremonies. They both began 
to examine the stone, and they passed it from one to 
the other, remarking that it was very sharp, and must 
have cut the Abba’s shoe. Madame de Condamin stood 
smiling between them, and assured them that she was 
beginning to feel better. 


300 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“His reverence the Abb6 is feeling ill! 1 ' cried Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil’s daughters. 

The Abb6 Surin had, indeed, turned very pale at hear¬ 
ing of the danger he had run. He was reeling with 
faintness, when the Abb£ Faujas who had held himself 
aloof, took him in his powerful arms, and carried him 
off into the Mourets’ garden, where he seated him upon 
a chair. The two sets of guests swarmed under the 
arbor, where the young Abb6 now completely fainted 
away. 

“Get some water and some vinegar, Rose!” cried the 
Abb6 Faujas, running up toward the steps. 

Mouret, who was in the dining-room, came to the win¬ 
dow, but, seeing all these people in the garden, he re¬ 
coiled as though he were struck with fear, and he kept 
himself out of sight. Rose came up with a whole col¬ 
lection of drugs, muttering as she hastened along: 

“If only madame were here! But she has gone to the 
Seminary to see the little one. I am all alone, and I 
can’t do impossibilities, can I? The master would let 
you die, before he would get you even a glass of water.” 

By the time she had got through this grumble, she had 
reached the Abb6 Surin who was lying in a swoon. “Oh! 
the cherub!” she exclaimed, overcome with her womanly 
pity. 

The Abb£ Surin, with his closed eyes and his pale 
brow wreathed with his long, fair hair, looked like one 
of the sweet-faced martyrs that one sees breathing out 
his life in some sacred picture. The elder of the Rastoil 
girls was supporting his head, which was lying languidly 
back, allowing his delicate, white neck to be seen. They 
were all in great excitement round him. Madame de Ccfn- 
damin gently dabbed his brow with a rag soaked in vin¬ 
egar and water, and the two sets of guests stood anx¬ 
iously by her. At last the young Abb6 opened his eyes, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


201 


but he closed them again immediately. He had two 
more swoons before he recovered. 

"You have given me a terrible fright!" Doctor Por- 
quier, who had kept his hand fast in his own, said to him 
at last. 

The Abb6, still sitting in the chair, stammered out con¬ 
fused thanks, and assured them all that it was a mere 
nothing. Then he saw that his cassock had been unbut¬ 
toned, and that his neck was bare; and he smiled as he 
buttoned it and readjusted his bands. To prove that 
he was all right again,when the company advised him to 
keep very quiet, he set off back to the alley with the 
Rastoil girls to finish the game. 

"You have a very nice place here," said Monsieur 
Rastoil to the Abb6 Faujas, with whom he had kept all 
this time. 

"There is a delightful air on this slope," added Mon¬ 
sieur P£queur des Saulaies, in his charming manner. 

The two sets of guests were looking with curiosity at 
the Mourets’ house. 

"Perhaps the ladies and gentlemen," exclaimed Rose, 
"would like to stay in the garden a little time; I will go 
and get some chairs." 

She made three journeys in quest of them in spite of 
the protestations of the company. Then, after having 
glanced at each other for a moment, the two sets of 
guests felt constrained by courtesy to seat themselves. 
The sub-prefect sat on the Abb6 Faujas’ right, while the 
president took a chair at his left, and a friendly conver¬ 
sation was at once commenced. 

"You are a very quiet neighbor, your reverence," said 
Monsieur P£queur des Saulaies very graciously; "you 
can’t iipagine the pleasure it gives me to see you every 
day at the same hour in this little paradise. It seems 


202 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


to give me a feeling of restfulness after all the noise and 
worry I have." 

"A pleasant neighbor is a very rare thing," observed 
Monsieur Rastoil. 

"Indeed he is,” said Monsieur de €3ourdeu. "His rev¬ 
erence seems to have filled this spot with all the peace¬ 
ful tranquillity of a cloister." 

While the Abb6 was smiling and acknowledging these 
complimentary remarks, Monsieur de Condamin, who 
had not yet seated himself, stooped down and whispered 
in Monsieur Delangre’s ear: 

"There’s Rastoil there, hoping to get that lout of a 
son of his mads assistant prosecutor!" 

Madame de Condamin had just caused a great sensa¬ 
tion by saying, in a meaning way: 

"What I like about this garden is a sort of tender 
charm it seems to possess, which gives it a feeling of 
being cut off from all the cares and wretchedness of the 
world. It is a spot where Cain and Abel might recon¬ 
cile themselves to each other." 

She gave a strong accentuation to this last sentence, 
which she accompanied by two glances, one to the right 
and the other to the left, toward the neighboring gar¬ 
dens. Monsieur Maffre and Doctor Porquier nodded 
their heads approvingly; while the Paloques looked in¬ 
quisitively at each other, feeling uneasy and not know¬ 
ing what to do, and fearing to compromise themselves 
with one side or the other if they opened their mouths. 

At the end of a quarter of an hour Monsieur Rastoil 
rose from his seat. 

"My wife will be wondering where we have gone to," 
he said. 

All the company rose, feeling somewhat embarrassed 
as to the manner of their leave-taking. The Abb6 Fau- 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


203 


jas spread out his hands and said, with the pleasantest 
possible smile: 

“My paradise is always open to you.” 

Then the president promised to come and see the 
vicar every now and then, and the sub-prefect, with more 
effusiveness, said he would do the same. The two sets 
of guests lingered for another five minutes exchanging 
compliments, while, out in the alley, the laughter of the 
Rastoil girls and the Abb6 Surin was heard again. The 
game was going on with all its previous fervor, and the 
shuttlecock could be seen over the wall passing back¬ 
ward and forward in its regular flight. 


XV 

One Friday, as Madame Paloque was entering Saint- 
Saturnin’s, she was greatly surprised to see Marthe 
kneeling in front of Saint Michael's chapel. The Abbd 
Faujas was hearing confessions. 

“Ah!” she said to herself, “has she succeeded in touch¬ 
ing the Abbd's heart? I must wait here a little and 
watch. It would be very fine if Madame de Condamin 
were to come.” 

She took a chair, a little behind, and half kneeling 
down she covered her face with her hands as though she 
were absorbed in earnest prayer, but she spread her fin¬ 
gers apart and glanced through them. The church was 
very gloomy. Marthe, with her head bent down on her 
prayer-book, looked as though she were asleep, and her 
figure stood out blackly against a white pillar. It was 
only her shoulders, heaving up and down with her deep- 
drawn sighs, that seemed to be alive. She was so pro¬ 
foundly overcome with emotion, that she was leaving her 



204 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


turn to be taken by some other of the Abbd Faujas* 
penitents. The Abbd waited on for a few moments, and 
then, seeming to grow a little impatient, he began to 
tap gently on the wood of the confessional-box. Then 
one of the women who were there, seeing that Marthe 
showed no sign of moving, decided to take her place. 
The chapel was growing empty, and Marthe still remained 
motionless and shaken with sighs. 

"She seems in a tremendous state,” Madame Paloque 
said to herself. "It is really quite indecent to make 
such an exhibition of oneself in church. Ah! here 
comes Madame de Condamin!” 

Madame de Condamin was just entering the church. 
She stopped for a moment before the holy-water basin, 
removed her glove, and crossed herself with a pretty 
gesture. Her silk dress made a murmuring sound as she 
passed along through the narrow space between the 
chairs. As she knelt down, she filled the lofty vault with 
the rustling of her skirts. She wore her usual affable 
expression, and her face smiled through the gloom of 
the church. Soon she and Marthe were the only two left. 
The priest seemed to be getting vexed, and he tapped 
more loudly upon the confessional-box. 

"It is your turn, madame; I am the last,” Madame de 
Condamin whispered politely, bending toward Marthe, 
whom she had not recognized. 

Marthe raised her face, a face that was pinched and 
pale from her extreme emotion, and did not appear to 
understand. She seemed as though she were awakening 
from some ecstatic trance, and her eyelids trembled and 
blinked. 

"Come, ladies, come!” exclaimed the Abb6, who had 
half-opened the door of the confessional-box. 

Madame de Condamin rose smilingly to obey the 
priest’s summons; but Marthe, recognizing her, hastened 

_ J 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


205 


hurriedly into the chapel, and then she again fell upon 
her knees some three yards away from the confessional- 
box. 

Madame Paloque was feeling much amused. She was 
hoping that the two ladies would seize each other by 
the hair. Marthe could hear all that was said, for Ma¬ 
dame de Condamin had a clear, flute-like voice, and she 
dallied lengthily over her sins, and she quite animated 
the confessional with her pretty gossiping manner. Once 
she even laughed a little muffled laugh, at the sound of 
which Marthe raised her pain-racked face. Soon after¬ 
wards she finished her confession, and began to retire, 
but she quickly returned again, and commenced talking 
once more, but without kneeling down, and merely bend¬ 
ing her head. 

“That she-devil is making sport of Madame Mouret 
and the Abb6,” the judged wife thought to herself. 
“It's all put on, this is.” 

At last Madame de Condamin retired. Marthe followed 
her with her eyes, and seemed to be waiting till she 
had disappeared. Then she went and leaned against the 
confessional-box, and let her knees fall heavily down. 
Madame Paloque had slipped a little nearer and craned 
out her head, but she could see nothing but the peni¬ 
tent's dark dress that was spread out around her. For 
nearly half an hour there was not the slightest move¬ 
ment. Now and then she thought she could detect the 
sound of smothered sobs in the throbbing silence, which 
was broken at times by a dry creak from the confessional- 
box. She was beginning to feel a little wearv of her 
watching; there was nothing to be done now except to 
stare at Marthe as she left the chapel. 

The Abbd Faujas was the first to leave, closing the 
door of the confessional-box with an appearance of an¬ 
noyance. Madame Mouret lingered on for a long time, 


206 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


bent down and motionless. When at last she went away, 
her face covered with her veil, she seemed quite broken 
down, and she forgot to cross herself. 

"There has been a row; the Abbd hasn’t made him¬ 
self pleasant,” Madame Paloque said to herself. She 
followed Marthe as far as the Place de V Archevech6, 
where she stopped and seemed to hesitate for a moment; 
then, having glanced cautiously around to be sure that 
no one was watching her, she stealthily slipped into the 
house where the Abbd Fenil lived, at one of the corners 
of the Place. 

Marthe now almost lived at Saint-Saturnin’s. She 
carried out her religious duties with great fervor. Even 
the Abb6 Faujas had often to remonstrate with her about 
her excessive zeal. He allowed her to communicate 
only once a month, fixed the times when she should de¬ 
vote herself to pious exercises, and insisted upon her 
not entirely shutting herself up in religious practices. 
She had for a long time been requesting him to let her 
be present every morning at a low mass before he would 
accede to her desires. One day when she told him that 
she had lain for a whole hour on the cold floor of her room 
to punish herself for some fault she had committed, he 
was very angry with her, and told her that it was her 
confessor alone who had the right to inflict penance. He 
treated her very sternly, and threatened to send her back 
to the Abb6 Bourrette if she did not absolutely follow 
his directions. 

"I was wrong to take you at all,” he often said; *T do 
not like disobedient souls.” 

"Be kind to me,” she murmured to the Abb6 Faujas, 
"be kind to me, for I stand in great need of kindness." 

And when he did show her kindness, she could have 
gone down upon her knees and thanked him. At these 
times he unbent and spoke to her in a father-like 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


207 


way, and pointed out to her that her imagination was too 
excited and feverish. God, he told her, did not like to 
be worshiped in that way, in wild impulses. She 
smiled, looking quite pretty and young again with her 
blushing face. She promised to be more comformable 
in the future. Sometimes she underwent paroxysms of 
devotion, which crushed her down upon the flag-stones 
in some dark corner, where she no longer knelt, but al¬ 
most groveled upon the ground, stammering out burn¬ 
ing words, and when even her power of speech died away 
and she continued her prayers by an impulse of her 
whole being, in an appeal to that divine kiss which 
seemed ever hovering about her brow without pressing 
it. 

At home Marthe was becoming querulous. Up till now 
she had been quite indifferent and listless, quite happy 
so long as her husband left her at peace; but now that 
he had begun to spend his whole days in the house, hav¬ 
ing lost his old spirit of teasing banter, and having 
grown mopish and melancholy, she grew impatient with 
him. 

"He is always hanging about us," she said to the cook, 
one day. 

"Oh, he does it out of pure maliciousness," Rose re¬ 
plied. "He isn’t a good man at heart. I haven’t found 
that out to-day for the first time. He’s only putting on 
this woe-begone look, he who is so fond of hearing his 
tongue wag, to try and make us pity him. He’s really 
bursting with anger, but he won’t show it, because he 
thinks that if he looks miserable we shall be sorry for 
him and do just what he wants." 

Mouret had a hold upon the women in his purse. He 
did not care to wrangle and argue with them for fear 
of making his life still less comfortable than it already 
was; but, though he no longer grumbled and meddled 


208 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


and interfered, he showed his displeasure by refusing a 
single extra hundred-sou piece to either Marthe or 
Rose. He gave the latter a hundred francs a month for 
the purchase of provisions; wine, oil, and preserves were 
in the house. The cook was obliged to get on with that 
sum to the end of the month, even if she had to pay 
something out of her own pocket. As for Marthe, she 
had absolutely nothing; her husband never gave her 
even a single sou, and she was compelled to appeal to 
Rose, and to get her to try to save ten francs out of the 
monthly allowance. Often she found herself without a 
pair of boots to put on, and she was obliged to borrow 
from her mother the money to buy a dress or a bonnet. 

“But Mouret must surely be going mad!” Madame 
Rougon cried. “You can’t go naked! I will speak to 
him about it.” 

“I beg you not to do anything of the kind, mother,” 
Marthe said. “He detests you, and he would treat me 
even worse than he does already if he knew that I talked 
of these matters to you.” 

She began to cry as she added: 

“I have shielded him for a long time, but I really can’t 
keep silent any longer. You remember that once he was 
most unwilling for me even to set my foot in the street; 
he kept me shut up, and treated me like a mere chattel. 
Now he is treating me so unkindly because he sees that 
I won’t submit any longer to be nothing but a servant.” 

“He doesn’t strike you, does he?” 

“No; but it will come to that. At present, he con¬ 
tents himself with refusing me everything. I haven’t 
a single centime about me. The other day I had to bor¬ 
row two sous from Rose to buy some thread to sew up 
my gloves, which were splitting all over.” 

It was a source of especial distress to Marthe that she 
was not able to contribute to the offertories at Saint 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


209 


Saturnin’s. She used to conceal ten-sou pieces in scraps 
of paper and keep them carefully for the high mass on 
Sundays. She would have robbed her husband if she 
could have found the key of his desk, so keenly was she 
tortured by being unable to do anything for the honor of 
this church which she so passionately loved. She felt 
all the jealousy of a deceived woman, when the Abb6 
Faujas used a chalice which had been presented by 
Madame de Condamin; while on the days when he said 
mass in front of the altar-frontal which she herself had 
embroidered, she was filled with a fervent joy, and said 
her prayers with ecstatic thrills, as though some part of 
herself lay beneath the priest’s extended hands. She 
would have liked to have a whole chapel of her own; 
and she had dreams of expending a fortune upon one, 
and of shutting herself up in it and receiving the Deity 
all to herself at her own altar. 

Rose, who received all her confidences, had recourse 
to all sorts of plans to obtain money for her. This year 
she secretly gathered the finest fruit in the garden and 
sold it, and she disposed of a lot of old furniture that 
was stowed away in an attic, and managed her sales so 
well that she succeeded in getting together a sum of 
three hundred francs, which she handed over to Marthe 
with great triumph. The latter kissed the old cook. 

“Oh! how good you are!” she said to her, affection¬ 
ately. “Are you quite sure that he knows nothing about 
what you have done? I saw the other day, in the Rue 
des Orfdvres, two little cruets of chased silver, such 
dear little things; they are marked two hundred francs. 
Now, you’ll do me a little favor, won’t you? I don’t 
want to go and buy them myself, because some one would 
be sure to see me going into the shop. Tell your sister 
to go and get them. She can bring them here after 

14 


210 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

dark, and can give them to you through the kitchen 
window.” 

This purchase of the cruets seemed like a clandestine 
intrigue to Marthe, and she felt thrills of the sweetest 
pleasure from it. For three days she kept the cruets at 
the bottom of a chest, hidden away behind layers of 
linen; and when she gave them to the Abb£ Faujas in 
the sacristy of Saint-Saturnin’s, she trembled and could 
scarcely speak. The Abb£ scolded her in a kindly fash¬ 
ion. He was not fond of presents, and he spoke of 
money with the disdain of a strong-minded man who 
cares only for power and authority. During their two 
first years of poverty, even at times when he and his 
mother had had no food beyond bread and water, he had 
never thought of borrowing a ten-franc piece from the 
Mourets. 

Marthe found a safe hiding-place for the hundred 
francs that she still had left. She, too, was becoming 
a little miserly; and she schemed how she should lay this 
money out, making some fresh plan every morning. 
While she was still in a state of doubt and hesitation, 
Rose told her that Madame Trouche wanted to see her 
privately. Olympe, who used to spend hours in the 
kitchen, had become Rose’s intimate friend, and she often 
borrowed forty sous of her, to save herself from going 
upstairs at times when she said she had forgotten to 
bring her purse with her. 

“Go upstairs and see her there,” said the cook; “you 
will be better able to talk there. They are a good sort of 
people, and they are very fond of his reverence. They have 
had a lot of trouble. Madame Olympe has quite made 
my heart ache with all the things she has told me." 

When Marthe went upstairs, she found Olympe in 
tears. They were too soft-hearted, she said, and their 
kindness was always being abused; then she entered up- 


THE CONQUEST OF FLASSANS 


211 


on an explanation of their history at Be&ancon, where 
the rascality of a partner had saddled them with a heavy 
load of debt. Now, to make matters worse their credit¬ 
ors were getting very impatient, and she had just re¬ 
ceived an insulting letter in which the sender threatened 
to write to the mayor and the bishop of Plassans. 

“I don’t mind what happens to me,” she sobbed, “but 
I would give my head to save my brother from being 
compromised. He has already done too much for us, 
and I don’t want to speak to him on the matter, for he 
is not rich, and he would only distress himself to no 
purpose. Good heavens! what can I do to keep that man 
from writing? My brother would die of shame if such 
a letter were sent to the mayor and the bishop. Yes, I 
know him well; he would die of shame!" 

The tears rushed to Marthe’s eyes. She was quite pale 
and she pressed Olympe’s hands. Then, without the lat- 
tar having preferred any request, she offered her her 
hundred francs. 

“It is very little, I know; but perhaps it might be 
sufficient to avert the danger," she said with an ex¬ 
pression of great anxiety. 

“A hundred francs, a hundred francs!" exclaimed 
Olympe; “Oh, no! he would never be satisfied with 
a hundred francs." 

Marthe lost all hope. She swore that she had not a 
centime more. She so far forgot herself as to speak of 
the cruets. If she had not bought them she would have 
been able to give three hundred francs. Madame 
Trouche’s eyes sparkled. 

“Three hundred francs, that is just what he demands," 
she said. “Ah! you would have rendered a much greater 
service to my brother by not giving him this present, 
which, besides, will have to remain in the church. 
Look at all the beautiful things the ladies at Besancon 


212 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


presented to him! And he is not a bit the better for 
them to-day! Don’t give him anything more; it is really 
nothing but robbery! Consult me about what to do; 
there is so much hidden misery—No! a hundred francs 
will certainly not be sufficient!” 

At the end of half an hour, however, spent in lamen¬ 
tation, she accepted the hundred francs when she saw 
that Marthe had really nothing more. 

‘‘I will send them off to pacify the man for a little,” 
she said, “but he won’t leave us at peace long. But 
whatever you do, I beg of you not to mention anything 
about it to my brother. It would nearly kill him. And 
I think it would be better, too, if my husband knew 
nothing of what has passed between us; he is so proud 
that he would be sure to be doing something rash to be 
able to acquit himself of our obligation to you. We 
women can understand each other, you know. ” 

This loan was a source of much pleasure to Marthe, 
and henceforth she had a fresh care, to ward off from the 
Abbd Faujas the danger that was threatening him without 
his being aware of it. She frequently went upstairs to 
the Trouches’ rooms and stayed there for hours, discuss¬ 
ing with Olympe the best means of discharging the debts. 
The latter had told her that many of the promises to pay 
had been indorsed by the priest, and that there would be 
a terrible scandal if they should ever be sent to any 
bailiff in Plassans to be enforced. The sum total of 
their liabilities was so great, she said, that for a long 
time she refused to disclose it, only weeping the more 
bitterly when Marthe pressed her. One day, however, 
she mentioned the sum of twenty thousand francs. 
Marthe was quite petrified upon hearing this. She 
would never be able to procure anything like twenty 
thousand francs, and she thought that she would certainly 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


213 


have to wait for Mouret’s death before she could hope 
to have any such sum at her disposition. 

“I say twenty thousand francs in all,” Olympe added 
hastily, disquieted by Marthe’s grave appearance; "but 
we should be quite satisfied to be able to pay by small 
installments spread over half a score years. The cred¬ 
itors would wait for any length of time, if they were 
only quite sure of getting their installments regularly. 
It is a great pity that we can't find anyone who has 
sufficient confidence in us to make the small necessary 
advance.” 

This matter became an habitual topic of conversa¬ 
tion. Olympe also frequently spoke of the Abb6 Faujas, 
whom she appeared almost to worship. She told Marthe 
all kinds of private little details about the priest: such 
as, for instance, that he could not bear anything that 
tickled him, and that he could not go to sleep on his 
left side, and that he had a strawberry-mark on his right 
shoulder, which turned red in May like the natural fruit. 
Marthe smiled and never tired of hearing about these 
little matters; and she questioned the young woman 
about her childhood and that of her brother. When the 
subject of the money cropped up she seemed quite pain¬ 
fully overcome by her inability to do anything, and she 
even permitted herself to complain bitterly of Mouret, 
to whom Olympe, emboldened by Marthe’s words, now 
always referred in her presence as the “old miser." 
Sometimes when Trouche returned from his office he 
found the two women still talking together, but at his 
appearance they checked themselves and changed the 
subject. Trouche conducted himself in the most satis¬ 
factory way, and the lady patronesses of the Home of 
the Virgin were highly pleased with him. He was never 
seen in any of the caf£s in the town. 

In order to be able to render some assistance to 


214 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


Olympe, who sometimes talked about throwing herself 
out of the window, Marthe made Rose take all the use¬ 
less old odds and ends that were lying about the house 
to a second-hand dealer in the market. At first the two 
women were a little timid about the matter, and they 
only disposed of broken-down chairs and tables when 
Mouret was out of the way, but afterward they began 
to lay hands upon more important articles, and they sold 
pieces of china and ornaments, and anything else that 
they could remove without its absence appearing too 
conspicuous. They were slipping down a fatal incline, 
and they would have ended by carting off all the furni¬ 
ture in the house and leaving nothing but the bare walls 
if Mouret had not one day charged Rose with thieving 
and threatened to send for the police. 

“What, sir! A thief! l!”she cried. “Just because 
you happened to see me selling one of madame’s rings. 
Be careful of what you are saying! The ring was mine; 
madame gave it to me. Madame isn’t such a mean 
wretch as you are. You ought to be ashamed of yourself 
for leaving your wife without a sou! She hasn’t even 
a pair of shoes to put on! The other day I had to pay 
the milkman myself! Yes, I did sell the ring, and what 
of that? Isn’t madame’s ring her own? She is obliged 
to turn it into money, since you won’t give her any. If 
I were she, I would sell the whole house! The whole 
house, do you hear?” 

Mouret now began to keep a close watch at all times. 
He locked up the cupboards and drawers and kept the keys 
in his own possession. When Rose went out he made a prac¬ 
tice of looking at her hands with a mistrustful glance, and 
he felt at her pockets if he saw any suspicious swelling 
beneath her skirt. He brought back certain articles from 
the second-hand dealer and restored them to their places, 
dusting and wiping them ostentatiously in Marthe’s pres- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


215 


ence to remind her of what he called Rose’s thefts. 
He never directly accused his wife. There was a cut- 
glass bottle which he made a special source of torture 
to her. Rose had sold it for twenty sous, and had pre¬ 
tended to Mouret that it was broken. Now he made her 
bring it and put it on the table at every meal. One 
morning, at breakfast, she quite lost her temper over 
it, and she let it fall. 

"There, sir, it’s really broken this time, isn’t it?” she 
cried, laughing in his face. 

As he threatened to dismiss her, she exclaimed: 

"You had better! Pve been in your service for five 
and twenty years. If I went, madame would go with 
me!” 

Marthe, reduced to extremities and pressed on by 
Rose and Olympe, at last rebelled. She was desperately 
in want of five hundred francs. For the last week Olympe 
had been crying and sobbing, asserting that if she could 
not get five hundred francs by the end of the month one 
of the bills which had been indorsed by the Abb6 
Faujas would be published in one of the Plassans news¬ 
papers. The threatened publication of this bill, this 
terrible menace which she did not quite understand, 
threw Marthe into a state of dreadful alarm and she re¬ 
solved to dare everything. In the evening, as they*were 
going to bed, she asked Mouret for the five hundred 
francs, and then as he looked at her in amazement, she 
began to speak of the fifteen'years which she had spent 
behind a counter at Marseilles, with a pen behind her 
ear like a clerk. 

"We made the money together,” she said; "and it be¬ 
longs to us both. I want five hundred francs." 

Mourret broke out violently from his long maintained 
moody silence, and all his old jeering passion showed 
itself again. 


216 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


"Five hundred francs! ” he cried. "Is it for your 
priest that you want them? I have been behaving like 
a simpleton and have kept my peace for fear I might 
say too much; but you must not imagine that you can 
go on forever making a fool of me! Five hundred 
francs! Why not say the whole house? The whole house 
certainly seems to belong to him! He wants some money 
does he? And he has told you to ask me for it? I 
might be amongst a lot of robbers in a wood instead of 
being in my own house! Everything I have is disap¬ 
pearing and I sha’n’t have anything left very soon! No, 
not a single sou will I give you, not a single sou! ” 

"I want five hundred francs; half of the money belongs 
to me," Marthe replied tranquilly. 

For a whole hour Mouret stormed and fumed and cried 
out the same string of reproaches. His wife was no 
longer the same, he said. Before the priest came, she 
loved him and obeyed him and looked after the house. 
Those who set her to act in opposition to him must be 
very wicked persons. Then his voice grew thick, and he 
let himself fall into a chair, broken down and as weak 
as a child. 

"Give me the key of your desk!" said Marthe. 

He got up from his chair and gathered up his strength 
for a*last cry of protest. 

"You want to strip me of everything! to leave your 
children with nothing but a bundle of straw for a bed, 
and you won’t leave us even a loaf of bread! Well! 
well! clear every thing out, and send for Rose to fill her 
apron! There’s the key! " 

He threw the key to Marthe and she placed it beneath 
her pillow. She was quite pale after this quarrel, the 
first violent quarrel which she had ever had with her 
husband. She got into bed, but Mouret passed the night 
in an easy-chair. Toward morning Marthe heard him 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


217 


sobbing. She would have given him back the key, if he 
had not wildly rushed down into the garden, though it 
was still pitch dark. 

Peace again seemed to be re-established between 
them. The key of the desk remained hanging upon a 
nail near the mirror. Marthe, who was quite unaccus¬ 
tomed to the sight of large sums, felt a sort of fear of 
the money. She was very bashful and shame-faced at 
first whenever she went to open the drawer in which 
Mouret always kept some ten thousand francs in cash to 
pay for his purchases of wine. She strictly confined 
herself to taking only what was necessary. Olympe, 
too, gave her the most excellent advice, and told her 
that now she had the key she ought to be careful and 
economical; and seeing the trembling nervousness which 
she exhibited at the sight of the hoard of money, she 
ceased for some time to speak to her of the debts at 
Besancon. 

Mouret relapsed again into his former moody silence. 

Serge's admission to the Seminary had been another 
severe blow to him. His friends of the Cours Sauvaire, 
the retired traders who took their promenade there reg¬ 
ularly between four o'clock and six, began to feel very 
uneasy about him, as they saw him coming along with 
his arms swaying about and his face wearing a stupefied 
expression, hardly making any reply to their remarks 
and seeming a prey to some incurable disease. 

"He's breaking up; he's breaking up,” they murmured 
to each other; "and he's only forty-four; it's scarcely 
credible. He will end by having softening of the brain." 

Then these worthy gentlemen regaled themselves with 
certain scandalous stories which they whispered into each 
other's ears, passing them on in this way from one end 
of the bench to the other. 

"Well," said a master-tanner in a half whisper, "there 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


&18 

isn’t much pluck about Mouret; if I were in his place 
I would soon show the priest the door.” 

Then they all echoed that Mouret was certainly a very 
timid fellow, he who had formerly jeered so at husbands 
who allowed their wives to lead them by the nose. 

These stories, however, in spite of the persistence 
with which certain persons kept them afloat, never got 
beyond a particular set of idle, gossiping people, and 
the reason which the Abb6 himself gave for not taking 
up his residence in the official vicarage, namely, his lik¬ 
ing for the Mourets’ beautiful garden where he could 
read his breviary in such perfect peace, was generally 
accepted as the true one. His great piety, his ascetic 
life and his contempt for all the frivolities and coquet¬ 
ries which other priests allowed themselves placed him 
beyond all suspicion. The members of the Young Men’s 
Club accused the Abb6 Fenil of trying to ruin him. All 
the new part of the town was on his side, and it was 
only the Saint Mark quarter that was against him, its 
aristocratic inhabitants treating him with great reserve 
when they met him in Monseigneur Rousselot’s saloons. 
However, in spite of all his popularity, he shook his 
head when old Madame Rougon told him that he might 
now dare all. 

"Nothing is quite safe and solid yet," he said. "I am 
not sure of anyone. The least touch might bring the 
whole edifice toppling down.” 

Marthe had been causing him anxiety for some time 
past. He recognized that he was incapable of calming 
the fever of devotion which was raging within her. She 
escaped from his control and disobeyed him, and ad¬ 
vanced further than he wished her to do. He was afraid 
lest this woman, who was so useful, this much respect¬ 
ed patroness, might yet bring about his ruin. There 
was a fire burning within her which seemed to break 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


219 


down her body, and discolor her flesh, and redden her 
eyes and make them heavy. It was like an ever-grow¬ 
ing disease, that was gradually making her heart and 
brain its prey. Her face seemed to be slumbering in 
some ecstatic trance, and her hands were shaken with a 
nervous trembling. A dry cough every now and then 
shook her from head to foot without her seeming con¬ 
scious of how it was tearing her. The Abbd now showed 
himself sterner to her than before, and tried to crush 
down that love which was dawning within her, and for¬ 
bade her to come to Saint-Saturnin’s. 

“The church is very cold,” he said, “and you cough so 
much there. I don’t want you to do anything to make 
yourself worse.” 

She protested that there was nothing the matter with 
her beyond a slight irritation of the throat, but at last 
she yielded and accepted his prohibition to go to the 
church as a well-deserved punishment which closed the 
doors of heaven against her. 

The priest was afraid of the effect of the gloomy dark¬ 
ness of Saint Michael’s chapel upon Marthe. He spoke 
upon the subject to Doctor Porquier, who persuaded 
Marthe to go to confession in the little oratory of the 
Home of the Virgin in the Suburb. The Abb6 Faujas 
promised to be there to hear her every other Saturday. 
This oratory, which had been established in a large white¬ 
washed room with four great windows, was bright and 
cheerful and would, he calculated, have a calming effect 
upon the over-excited imagination of his penitent. There, 
he thought, he would be able to bring her under his con¬ 
trol and reduce her to obedience, without having to fear 
a possible scandal. As a guard against all calumnious 
gossip, he asked his mother to accompany Marthe, and 
while he was confessing the latter, Madame Faujas re¬ 
mained outside the door. As the old lady was not fond 


220 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


of wasting her time, she took her knitting with her and 
worked away at a stocking. 

“My dear child,” she often said to Marthe, as they 
were returning together to the Rue Balande, “I could 
hear very well what Ovide was saying to you to-day. 
You don’t seem to be able to please him. You can’t 
love him. I shall grow to hate you, if you go on caus¬ 
ing me nothing but trouble.” 

Marthe bent her head. She felt a deep shame in 
Madame Faujas’ presence. The old lady’s dark eyes, 
too, troubled her as they were constantly bent upon her, 
seeming full of strange and disquieting hints. 

Marthe’s weak state of health was sufficient to account 
for her meetings with the Abbd Faujas in the oratory at 
the Home of the Virgin. Doctor Porquier stated that 
she did so simply in obedience to his orders, and the 
promenaders in the Cours were vastly amused at this 
saying of the doctor’s. 

“Well, all the same," said Madame Paloque to her 
husband one day, as she watched Marthe going down 
the Rue Balande, accompanied by Madame Faujas, I 
should like to be in some corner and watch what the 
vicar does with his sweetheart. It is very amusing to 
hear her talk of her bad cold! ” 

“You are doing very wrongly to interfere in the Abbd 
Faujas’ affairs," the judge said to her. “I have been 
spoken to about him. He is a man with whom we must 
be on good terms, and you will prevent us from being 
so; you are too spiteful.” 

“Stuff! ” she retorted angrily; “they have trampled me 
under foot and I will let them know who I am! Your 
Abbd Faujas is a great imbecile! Don’t you suppose 
that the Abbd Fenil would be very grateful to me if I 
could catch the vicar and his sweetheart making love? 
Ah! he would make a scandal like that very well worth 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


221 


our while! Just you leave me alone; you don’t under¬ 
stand anything about such matters.” 

A fortnight later, Madame Paloque watched Marthe 
and Madame Faujas go out on the Saturday. She was 
standing ready dressed behind her curtains, hiding her 
hideous face and keeping watch over the street through a 
hole in the muslin. When the two women disappeared 
round the corner of the Rue Taravelle, she sniggered with 
her gaping mouth. She leisurely drew on her gloves and 
then went quietly out into the Place of the Sub-Prefect¬ 
ure, and walked slowly round it. As she passed in front 
of Madame de Condamin’s little house, she thought for 
a moment of going in and taking her with her, but she 
reflected that she might perhaps have scruples. And 
altogether, she told herself, it was better to be without 
witnesses, and to manage the business by herself. 

“I have given them time,” she thought, after a quar¬ 
ter of an hour’s promenade, "to get to the deadly sins. 
I think I may present myself now.” 

Then she quickened her pace. She frequently went to 
the Home of the Virgin to discuss the accounts with 
Trouche, but to-day, instead of going into the secretary’s 
offices, she went unhesitatingly through the corridor and 
toward the oratory. Madame Faujas was quietly knit¬ 
ting on a chair in front of the door. 

The judge’s wife had foreseen this obstacle. She went 
straight on to the door with the hasty manner of a per¬ 
son who has important business on hand, but before she 
could reach out her hand to turn the handle, the old lady 
had risen from her chair and pushed her away with an 
extraordinary amount of energy. 

“Where are you going?” she asked in her blunt peas¬ 
ant woman’s tones. 

“I am going where I have business,” Madame Paloque 
replied, her arm smarting and her face convulsed with 


222 


THE CONQUEST OF PL/tSS/lNS 


anger. “You are an insolent and brutish woman! Let 
me pass! I am the treasurer of the Home of the Virgin, 
and I have a right to go anywhere here I want.” 

Madame Faujas, who was standing leaning against the 
door, straightened her spectacles upon her nose, and re¬ 
sumed her knitting with the most unruffled tranquillity. 

“No,” she said bluntly, “you can’t go in there.” 

“Can’t indeed! And may I ask why?” 

“Because I don’t wish that you should.” 

The judge’s wife felt that her plan was frustrated and 
she almost choked with spleen and anger. She was per¬ 
fectly frightful to look at as she gasped and stammered 
out: 

“I don’t know who you are and I don’t know what 
you are doing here. If I were to call out, I could have 
you arrested, for you have struck me. There must be 
some great wickedness going on at the other side of that 
door for you to have been put there to keep people from 
entering. I belong to the house, I tell you! Let me 
pass, or I shall call for help." 

“Call for anyone you like,” the old lady replied, shrug¬ 
ging her shoulders. “I have told you that you shall not 
go in, that I won’t let you. How am I to know that 
you belong to the house? But it makes no difference 
whether you do or you don’t. No one can go in. I won’t 
let them." 

Then Madame Paloque lost all control of herself, and 
she raised her voice and shrieked out: 

“I have no occasion to go in now! I have learnt quite 
sufficient. You are the Abb6 Faujas’ mother, are you 
not? This is a very decent and pretty part for you to be 
playing! I wouldn’t enter the room now! I wouldn’t 
mix myself up with all this filthiness! " 

Madame Faujas laid her knitting down upon the 
chair, and, bending slightly forward, gazed at Madame 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


223 


Faloque with her glistening eyes through her spectacles, 
holding her hands a little in front of her as though she 
were about to spring upon the angry woman and silence 
her. She was just going to throw herself upon her, when 
the door was suddenly opened and the Abb6 appeared 
on the threshold. He was in his surplice and he looked 
very stern. 

"Well, mother," he said, "what is going on here?” 

The old lady bent her head, and stepped back like a 
dog that is taking its place at its masters heels. 

"Ah! is that you, dear Madame Paloque?" the priest 
continued; "do you want to speak to me?" 

By a supreme effort of her will, the judge’s wife had 
forced her face into a smile. She answered the priest in 
a tone that was terrible in its amiability and mingled 
irony. 

"Ah! you were inside there were you, your reverence? 
If I had known that, I would not have insisted upon 
entering. I want to see the altar cloth, which must I 
think, be getting into a bad condition. I am a careful 
supervisor here, you know, and I keep my eye upon all 
these little details. But, of course, if you are engaged 
here, I wouldn’t think of disturbing you. Pray go on 
with what you are doing; the house is yours. If madame 
had only just dropped me a word, I would have left her 
quietly to continue guarding you from being disturbed." 

Madame Faujas allowed a growl to escape her, but a 
glance from her son reduced her to silence. 

"Come in, I beg of you," he said; "you won’t disturb 
me at all. I was confessing Madame Mouret who is 
not very well. Come in, by all means. The altar-cloth 
might really very well be changed, I think.” 

"Oh, no! I will come some other time," Madame 
Paloque replied. "I am quite distressed to have inter¬ 
rupted you. Pray go on, your reverence, pray go on!" 


224 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


Notwithstanding her protestations, however, she en¬ 
tered the room. While she was examining the altar- 
cloth with Marthe, the priest began to chide his mother 
in low tones. 

“Why did you prevent her coming in, mother? I never 
told you to allow no one to enter.” 

She gazed straight in front of her with her obstinate 
determined glance. 

“She would have had to walk over my body before she 
got inside," she murmured. 

“But why?” 

“Because—Listen to me, Ovide; don’t be angry; you 
know that it pains me to see you angry. You told me to 
accompany our landlady here, didn’t you? Well, I thought 
you wanted me to stop inquisitive people’s curiosity. 
So I took my seat out here. I can assure you that you 
were quite free to do anything you liked. No one should 
have put a head inside the door." 

He seized his mother’s hands and shook her as he 
cried: 

“Why, mother, you couldn’t have supposed—" 

“I suppose nothing,” she replied, with a sublime in¬ 
difference. “You are quite free to do whatever pleases 
you, and whatever you do is right. You are my child; 
I would steal for you, I would." 

The priest was no longer listening to her. He had let 
his mother’s hands drop, and, as he gazed at her, he 
seemed to be lost in reflections, which made his face look 
harder and more austere than ever. 

“No, never, never!" he exclaimed with lofty stern¬ 
ness. "You are greatly mistaken, mother. It is only 
the chaste who are powerful.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


225 


XVI 

At seventeen years of age, Ddsirde still preserved her 
innocent child-like laugh. She was now a fine, tall girl, 
plump and well developed, with the arms and shoulders 
of a full grown woman. She grew like a healthy plant, 
happy in her growth and development, and quite un¬ 
touched by the unhappiness which was wrecking and 
casting a gloom over the house. 

"Why do you never laugh?” she cried to her father 
one day. "Come and have a game at skipping-rope! It's 
such fun! ” 

She had taken possession of the whole of one of the 
beds of the garden, which she dug up and planted with 
vegetables which she carefully watered. The hard work 
delighted her. Then she had desired to have some 
fowls, which devoured her vegetables and which she 
scolded with a motherly tenderness. In these occupa¬ 
tions of hers, in her gardening and fowl-keeping, she 
used to make herself dreadfully dirty. 

"She’s perfectly filthy!" cried Rose. "I won’t have her 
coming into my kitchen any more; she dirties every¬ 
thing! It is no use your trying to keep her neatly dressed, 
madame. If I were you I should just leave her to mess 
about as she likes.” 

Marthe grew to feel a sort of disgust at her. When 
she returned home from mass, still retaining in her hair 
the vague odor of the church, she quite shuddered at 
the strong scent of earth which exhaled from her daugh¬ 
ter. She sent her off into the garden again immediately 
breakfast was over. She could not bear to have her near 
her, and felt distressed and disquieted by her robust 


226 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

vigor and her clear laugh which seemed to find amuse¬ 
ment and happiness in everything. 

"Oh, dear! how wearisome the child is!” she used to 
murmur sometimes, with an air of nerveless lassitude. 

As Mouret heard her complain, he exclaimed in an 
impulse of anger: 

"If she is in your way, we will turn her out of the 
house, as we have done the other two? 

"Indeed, I should be very glad if she were to go away,” 
Marthe replied, unhesitatingly. 

One afternoon, about the end of the summer, Mouret 
was alarmed at no longer being able to hear D6sir£e, 
who, a few minutes previously, had been making a tre¬ 
mendous noise at the bottom of the garden. He ran 
down to see what had happened to her, and he found 
her lying upon the ground. She had fallen from a lad¬ 
der on to which she had mounted to gather figs; the 
box-plants had fortunately broken the force of her fall. 
Mouret, in a great fright, lifted her up in his arms and 
called for assistance. He thought she was dead; but 
she quickly came to herself and said she was none the 
worse and wanted to mount the ladder again. 

Marthe, however, had in the meantime come down into 
the garden. When she heard D6sir6e laugh she seemed 
quite annoyed. 

"That child will kill me one of these days,” she ex¬ 
claimed. "She seems to do nothing but try to alarm me. 
I am sure she threw herself down on purpose. I can't 
endure it any longer. I shall shut myself up in my own 
room, and when I go out in the morning I shall not re¬ 
turn again till the evening. Yes, you may laugh, you 
great goose! To think that it’s possible I should have 
brought such a ninny into the world! You are making 
me pay for it very dearly!” 

"Yes, that she does!” cried Rose, who had run down 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


227 


from the kitchen; "she is a great burden, and there is no 
chance of our ever being able to get her married." 

Mouret looked at them and listened to them with a 
grieving heart. He made no remark, but he stayed with 
the young girl at the bottom of the garden and they re¬ 
mained out chatting affectionately together till night-fall. 
The next day, Marthe and Rose were away from the 
house the whole morning. They went to hear mass in a 
chapel, a league away from Plassans, that was dedicated 
to Saint-Januarius, to which all the pious folks of the 
town made a pilgrimage on this particular day. When 
they returned, the cook hastily served up a cold lunch. 
Marthe ate for a few minutes before she noticed that 
her daughter was not at table. 

"Isn't D£sir£e hungry?” she asked. "Why hasn't she 
come to lunch?” 

"Desiree is no longer here,” answered Mouret, who 
left his food almost untouched upon his plate; "I took 
her this morning to Saint-Eutrope to her nurse's.” 

Marthe laid down her fork, and turned a little pale, 
seeming surprised and hurt. 

"You ought to have consulted me," she said. 

Her husband, without making any direct reply, con¬ 
tinued: 

"She is all right with her nurse. The good woman 
is very fond of her, and will look well after her, and the 
child will no longer be in your way, and every one will 
be happy." 

Then, as his wife said nothing, he added: 

"If the house is not yet sufficiently quiet for you, just 
tell me, and I will go away myself." 

She half rose from her seat, and a light glistened in 
her eyes. Mouret had just wounded her so cruelly that 
she reached out her hand as though she were going to 
throw the water bottle at his head. She made a show 


228 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


of eating again, but she said nothing further about her 
daughter. Mouret had folded his napkin, and he re¬ 
mained sitting in front of her, listening to the sound of 
her fork, and casting lingering glances round the din¬ 
ing-room that had once been so merry with the chatter 
of the children, but which was now so empty and mourn¬ 
ful. The room seemed to him to be quite chilly, and 
tears were mounting to his eyes when Marthe called to 
Rose to bring in the dessert. 

"You must be very hungry, I should think, madame,” 
the cook said, as she put a plateful of fruit upon the 
table. “We have had a long walk; and if the master, 
instead of playing the pagan, had come with us, he 
would not have left you to eat the mutton all by your¬ 
self.” 

She changed the plates, without ceasing her chatter¬ 


ing. 

"It is very pretty is that chapel of Samt-Januarius, 
but it is too small. Did you see that the ladies who 
came late were obliged to kneel down outside on the 
grass, in the open air? I can’t understand why Madame 
de Condamin came in a carriage. There’s no merit in 
making the pilgrimage if you come that way. We spent 
a delightful morning, didn’t we, madame?” 

"Yes, a very delightful morning," Marthe replied. 
"The Abbd Mousseau, who preached, was very affecting. ” 

When Rose in her turn noticed D6sir6e’s absence and 


learnt of the girl’s departure, she exclaimed: 

"Well, really, it was a very good idea of the master’s! 
She was always walking off with my saucepans to water 
her plants. We shall be able to have a little peace now.” 

"Yes, indeed,” said Marthe, who was cutting a pear. 

Mouret was almost choking. He got up and left the 
dining-room without paying any attention to Rose, who 
cried out to him that the coffee would be ready directly. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 229 

Marthe, now left alone in the room, tranquilly finished 
her pear. 

Just as the cook was bringing the coffee, Madame 
Faujas came down-stairs. 

“Go in,” Rose said to her; “you will he company for 
madame, and you can have the master’s cup, for he has 
just rushed off like a madman.” 

They talked for a good hour together, and Marthe 
ended by relating all her troubles to Madame Faujas, 
telling her how her husband had just been inflicting a 
most painful scene upon her on account of her daughter, 
whom he had taken off to her nurse’s in a sudden whim. 
She defended herself and told Madame Faujas that she 
was really extremely fond of the girl, and that she 
should go for her some day soon. 

“She was rather noisy, certainly,” Madame Faujas 
remarked. “I have often pitied you. My son was think¬ 
ing about giving over going into the garden to read his 
breviary. She almost distracted him with the noise she 
made.” 

From this day Marthe and Mouret took their meals 
in silence. The autumn was very damp, and the dining¬ 
room looked intensely melancholy with the two far apart 
covers, separated by the whole length of the big table. 
The corners were dark and gloomy, and the cold seemed 
to fall from the ceiling. As Rose would say, it looked 
as though a funeral were going on. 

When the first frosts came, Rose, who sought in every 
way to oblige Madame Faujas, offered her the use of 
her stove for cooking. The old lady had commenced to 
bring down kettles of water to get them boiled, as she 
had no fire, she said, and the Abbd was in a hurry to 
shave himself. Then she borrowed some flat irons, and 
begged the use of some saucepans, and asked for the 
loan of the dutch-oven to cook some mutton, and then 


230 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


in the end, as she had no conveniently arranged fire-place 
upstairs, she accepted Rose’s offers, and the cook lighted 
a fire of vine branches, big enough to roast a whole 
sheep. 

'Don’t feel any diffidence about it,” she said, as she 
herself turned the leg of mutton round; “the kitchen is 
a large one, isn’t it? and big enough for us both. I 
don’t know how you’ve been able to manage to do your 
cooking upstairs as long as you have done, with only that 
miserable iron stove. Monsieur Mouret ought to know 
better than to let a set of rooms without any kitchen." 

Madame Faujas gradually began to cook her lunch 
and dinner in the Mourets’ kitchen. The first few times 
she provided her own coal and oil and spices. But after¬ 
ward, when she forgot to bring any article with her, 
Rose would not allow her to go upstairs for it, but in¬ 
sisted upon supplying the deficiency from the stores of 
the housed 

“Oh! there’s some butter there! The little bit which 
you will take with the end of your knife won’t ruin us. 
Madame would be angry with me if I didn’t make you 
quite at home here." 

A close intimacy now sprang up between Rose and 
Madame Faujas. The cook was delighted to have some 
one always at hand who was willing to listen to her as 
she stirred her sauces. She got on extremely well with 
the priest’s mother, whose print dresses and rough face 
and unpolished demeanor put her almost on a footing of 
equality with herself. They sat chatting together for 
hours before the fire-place, and Madame Faujas soon 
gained complete sway in the kitchen, though she still 
maintained her impenetrable attitude, and only said 
what she chose to say, while she contrived to worm ou/ 
all that she wanted to know. She settled the Mourets’ 
dinner, and tasted the dishes which she had arranged 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


231 

they should have, and Rose herself often made savory 
little luxuries for the Abba’s delectation, such as sugared 
apples or rice-cakes or fritters. The provisions of the 
two establishments often got mixed up together, and the 
different pans got confused, and the two dinners got so 
intermingled that Rose would cry up laughingly as she 
was going to serve up the meat: 

“Tell me, madame, are these poached eggs yours? Real¬ 
ly, I don’t know. Upon my word, it would be much better 
if you were all to dine together! ” 

It was on All Saints’ Day that the Abb6 Faujas lunched 
for the first time in the Mourets’ dining-room. He was 
in a great hurry, as he had to return very shortly to 
Saint-Saturnin’s, and so, to give him as much time as 
possible, Marthe made him sit down at their own table 
saying that it would save his mother having to mount up 
a couple of flights. A week later it had become a regular 
thing, and the Faujases came down-stairs at every meal 
and took their seats at the table, just as if they were 
entering a restaurant. For the first few days their pro¬ 
visions were cooked and served separately, but then 
Rose said this was a very silly arrangement, and that 
she could easily cook for four persons and that she 
would arrange it all with Madame Faujas. 

“Pray don’t thank me,” she said to the Abbd and his 
mother; “it is a kindness on your part to come down and 
keep madame company. You will cheer her up a little. 
If the master chooses to go on sulking now, it will only 
be himself who will suffer from it, and he will have to 
sulk all by himself.” 

They kept up a roaring fire, and the room was very 
warm. They had a delightful winter, and Rose had never 
before taken such pains to have the table-linen in per¬ 
fect order. She placed his reverence’s chair near the 


232 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


stove so that he had his back to the fire, and she paid him 
numberless other delicate little attentions. 

When she had prepared any dish of which he was 
particularly fond, she gave him notice of it that he might 
reserve himself for it and she brought it into the room 
under a cover, exclaiming with an air of suppressed 
triumph: 

'“This is for his reverence! It is a wild-duck stuffed 
with olives, just what he is so fond of. Give his rever¬ 
ence the breast, madame." Marthe carved the duck and 
pressed the choicest morsels upon the Abb£ with beseech¬ 
ing looks. She always helped him first, putting the 
daintiest portions of the dish upon his plate, while Rose 
bent over her and pointed out what she thought were 
the best parts. Rose used to push an embroidered has¬ 
sock under the priest’s feet, while Marthe insisted that 
he should always have his bottle of Bordeaux and his 
roll, ordering one of these specially for him every day 
from the baker. 

‘‘We can never do too much for you,” Rose said when 
the Abb6 expressed his thanks. ‘‘Who should be well 
looked after if it isn’t good kind hearts like yours? Don’t 
you trouble yourselves about it; the Lord will pay 
your debts for you.” 

Madame Faujas smiled at all these flattering civili¬ 
ties as she sat at the table opposite her son. She was 
beginning to be quite fond of Marthe and Rose and she 
considered their adoration only natural, and thought it 
a great happiness for them to be allowed to cast them¬ 
selves in this way at the feet of her idol. It was 
really she with her square head and peasant manner who 
presided over the table, eating slowly but largely, and 
noticing everything that happened without once letting 
go her fork, while she took care that Marthe should not 
fail to play the part of servant to her son at whom 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 233 

she was constantly gazing with an expression of pleased 
contentment. 

The Abb6 Faujas himself, however, seemed quite in¬ 
different to all the tender cares which were lavished 
upon him. He had yielded to his mother’s entreaties 
and had consented to join the Mourets, but the only sat¬ 
isfaction he experienced in the dining-room on the 
ground-floor was the pleasure of being set entirely free 
from the cares of material life. He manifested a 
most unruffled serenity, and he gradually ceased to man¬ 
ifest any surprise or express any thanks, lording it 
haughtily between the mistress of the house and the 
cook, who kept an anxious watch over the slightest 
motion of his stern face. 

Mouret sat opposite his wife, quite forgotten and un¬ 
noticed. He let his hands rest upon the edge of the 
table, and waited, like a child, till Marthe was willing 
to attend to him. She helped him the last, scantily, and 
to whatever might happen to be left. Rose stood be¬ 
hind her and warned her when by mistake she was going 
to give her husband some of the more delicate morsels 
on the dish. 

“No, no; not that. The master likes the head, you 
know. He enjoys sucking the little bones.” 

Mouret, snubbed and slighted, ate his food with a 
sort of shame as though he was subsisting unworthily on 
other people’s bounty. He could see Madame Faujas 
watching him keenly as he cut his bread. He kept his 
eyes fixed on the bottle for a whole minute, full of 
doubtful hesitation, before he dare venture to help him¬ 
self to the water. Once he made a mistake and took a 
little of the priest’s Bordeaux. There was a tremen¬ 
dous fuss made about it, and for a whole month after¬ 
ward Rose reproached him for those few drops of wine. 
When she made any sweet dish, she used to say: 


234 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


' I don’t want the master to have any of that. He 
never thinks anything I make is nice. Don’t give any 
of it to the master, I beg of you, madame.” 

She did all she could, too, to worry and upset him. 
She gave him cracked plates, contrived that one of the 
table legs should come between his own, left shreds of 
the glass-cloth clinging to his glass and placed the bread 
and wine and salt as far from him as possible. But what 
made Mouret still more miserable and robbed him of all 
appetite was his expulsion from his own seat, in front 
of the window, which was now given to the priest, as 
being the pleasantest in the room. Mouret was made 
to sit with his face toward the door, and he felt as 
though he were eating amongst strangers now that he 
could not at each mouthful cast a glance at his fruit- 
trees. 

Marthe was not so bitter against him as Rose was. 
She treated him like a poor relation, whose presence is 
just tolerated, and she gradually grew to almost ignore 
him altogether. Mouret, however, showed no inclina¬ 
tion to rebel, and he occasionally exchanged a few polite 
phrases with the priest, though he generally ate in per¬ 
fect silence and replied to the cook’s attacks only by 
looking calmly at her. 

Rose alleged that he was bursting with anger, and 
when she gossiped in the kitchen with Madame Faujas, 
she discussed her master freely. 

' I know him very well; I’ve never been afraid of him. 
Before you came, madame used to tremble before him, 
for he was always scolding and blustering and trying to 
appear very terrible. Now he is as docile as a sheep, 
isn’t he? It’s just because madame has asserted herself. 
Ah! if he weren’t a coward and weren’t afraid of what 
might happen, you would hear a pretty row. But he 
is afraid of your son; yes, he is afraid of his reverence 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


235 


the vicar. Anyone would say, to look at him, that he 
lost his senses every now and then. But after all, as 
long as he doesn’ t bother us any longer, he is welcome 
to act as he pleases; isn’t he, madame?” 

Madame Faujas replied that Monsieur Mouret seemed 
to her to be a very worthy man, and that his only fault 
was his lack of religion. When Mouret met her, he 
used to recall the day when the Faujases first arrived; 
when, wearing that shabby black dress of hers, she te¬ 
naciously clung to her basket with both hands and poked 
her head inquisitively into each room with all the un¬ 
ruffled serenity of a person inspecting a property for 
sale. 

Since the Faujases had begun to take their meals 
downstairs, the Trouches were left in possession of the 
second-floor. They made a great deal of noise, and 
sounds of furniture being moved about and stamping 
of feet and loud voices and doors violently opened and 
closed again were heard by those downstairs. Madame 
Faujas at these times used to raise her head in the 
midst of her gossiping in the kitchen with an uneasy ex¬ 
pression. Rose, for the sake of putting her at her ease, 
used to say that that poor Madame Trouche suffered a 
great deal of pain. One night, the Abb6, who had not 
yet gone to bed, heard a strange commotion on the stair¬ 
case. He went out of his room with his candle in his 
hand, and he saw Trouche, disgracefully drunk, climb¬ 
ing up the stairs on his knees. He seized him in his 
strong arms and threw him into his room. Olyinpe was 
in bed, quietly reading a novel and sipping a glass of 
spirits that was standing on a little table at the bed¬ 
side. 

"Listen to me,” said the Abb6 Faujas, livid with rage, 
"you will pack up your things in the morning and take 
yourselves off!” 


236 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“Why? what for?” asked Olympe, quite calmly; “we 
are very comfortable here.” 

The priest interrupted her very sternly. 

“Hold your tongue! You are a miserable woman, and 
you have never tried to do anything but injure me. Our 
mother was right; I should never have rescued you from 
your state of wretchedness. I’ve just had to pick your 
husband up on the stairs! It is disgraceful. Think of 
the scandal there would be, if he were to be seen in this 
state! You will go away in the morning.” 

Olympe sat up to take a drink of the spirits. 

“No, no, indeed!” she said. 

Trouche laughed. He was drunkenly merry. Then 
he fell back into an arm-chair in a state of happy com¬ 
plaisance. 

“Don’t let us quarrel," he stammered out “It is a 
mere nothing; only a little giddiness. The air, which 
is very cold, has made me dizzy, that’s all. And your 
streets in this confounded town are so very confusing. 
I say, Faujas, there are some very nice young fellows 
about here. There is Doctor Porquier’s son. You know 
Doctor Porquier, don’t you? Well, I meet the son in a 
caf6 behind the gaol. It is kept by a woman from Arles, 
a fine, handsome woman—” 

The priest had crossed his arms and was looking at 
him with a terrible expression. 

“No, really, Faujas, you are quite wrong to be angry 
with me. You know that I have been well brought up, 
and that I know how to behave myself. In the day-time 
I wouldn’t even touch a drop of syrup for fear of com¬ 
promising you. While I have been here I have gone to 
my office just like a boy going to school, with slices of 
bread and jam in a little basket. It’s a very stupid 
sort of life, I can assure you, and I only do it to be of 
service to you. But at night, I’m not likely to be seen, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


237 


and I can go about a little. It does me good, and I 
should die if I kept myself locked up here always. There 
is no one in the streets, you know. What funny streets 
they are, eh!” 

“Sot!” growled the priest from between his clinched 
teeth. 

"You won’t be friends, then? Well, that’s very wrong 
of you, old chap. I’m a jolly fellow myself, and I 
don’t like sour looks, and if what I do doesn’t please 
you. I’ll leave you to get on with your pious ladies by 
yourself. That little Condamin is the only decent one 
amongst them still, and she doesn’t come up to the caf£- 
keeper from Arles. Oh, yes! you may roll your eyes 
about as much as you like. I can get on quite well with¬ 
out you. See! would you like me to lend you a hun¬ 
dred francs?” 

He drew out a bundle of bank-notes and spread them 
on his knees, laughing loudly as he did so. Then he 
swept them under the Abba’s nose and threw them up 
in the air. Olympe sprang out of bed, half-naked, and 
picked up the notes and placed them under the bolster 
with an expression of vexation. The Abb£ Faujas 
glanced round him in great surprise. He saw bottles of 
spirits arranged all along the top of the chest of draw¬ 
ers, a scarcely touched pie on the mantel-piece, and some 
sugar-plums in a tattered old box. The room was full of 
recent purchases; dresses thrown over the chairs, an 
opened parcel of lace, a magnificent new over-coat hang¬ 
ing from the window-catch, and a bear-skin spread out 
in front of the bed. By the side of Olympe’s glass of 
grog on the little table there was a small, gold, lady’s 
watch glittering in a porcelain tray. 

"Whom have they been plundering, I wonder?" thought 
the priest. 


238 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

Then he recollected having seen Olympe kissing Mar- 
the’s hands. 

"You miserable people!” he cried; “you have been 
thieving!” 

Trouche sprang up, but his wife pushed him down on 
to the couch. 

"Keep yourself quiet!” she said to him, "and go to 
sleep, for you want it.” 

Then, turning to her brother, she continued: 

"It is one o’clock and you might leave us to go to 
sleep if you have only disagreeable things to say to us. 
My husband is certainly wrong to intoxicate himself, but 
that’s no reason why you should abuse him. We have 
already had several explanations; this one must be the 
last, do you understand, Ovide? We are brother and 
sister, are we not? Well, then, as I have told you be¬ 
fore, we must go halves. You gorge yourself downstairs 
and you have all kinds of dainty dishes, and you live a 
fat life between the landlady and the cook. Well, you 
please yourself about that. We don’t come and look 
into your plate nor try to pull the dainty morsels out of 
your mouth. We let you manage your affairs as you 
like. Very well then, do you leave us alone and allow 
us the same liberty. I don’t think I am asking anything 
unreasonable.” 

The priest made a gesture of impatience. 

"Oh yes, I understand,” she continued; "you are 
afraid lest we should compromise you in your schemes. 
The best way to insure our not doing so is to leave us 
in peace and not to worry us. Ah! in spite of all your 
grand airs, you are not a very clever person. We have 
the same interests as you have, we are all of the same 
family, and we might very well hunt together. It would 
be much the best plan, if you would only see it. There, 
go to bed, now! 1 will scold Trouche in the morning, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 239 

and I will send him to you and you can give him your 
instructions.” 

‘ Ah! he is an odd person, thatFaujas,” muttered the 
drunken man who was half-asleep. ‘‘I don’t want the 
landlady; I like her money much better.” 

Then Olympe broke out into an impudent laugh and 
looked at her brother. She had got into bed again, and 
had settled herself down comfortably with her back 
propped up against the pillow. The priest, who was a 
little pale, was thinking; then, without saying another 
word, he left the room, and Olympe resumed her novel 
while Trouche lay snoring on the couch. 

The next morning, Trouche, who had recovered his 
soberness, had a long interview with the Abb£ Faujas. 
When he returned to his wife, he informed her of the 
conditions upon which peace had again been patched up. 

"Listen to me, my dear," Olympe said to him; "give 
way to him and do what he asks. Above all try to be 
useful to him, since he gives you the chance of being 
so. I put on a bold face when he is here, but in my 
own heart I know quite well that he will turn us out 
into the street like dogs if we push him too far, and I 
don't want to have to leave here. Are you sure that he 
will let us stay?” 

"Oh yes; don't be afraid,” the secretary replied. "He 
has need of me, and he will leave us to feather our 
nest. ” 

The Trouches were also kept in check by Madame Fau¬ 
jas. The mother and the daughter were perpetually quar¬ 
reling with each other; Olympe complaining that she 
was ever being sacrificed to her brother, and Madame 
Faujas treating her like a viper whom she ought to have 
crushed to death in her cradle. Madame Faujas wanted to 
claim everything in the house, and she tried to keep the 
mere sweepings from Olympe’s clutching fingers. When 


240 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


she saw the large sums that her daughter was drawing 
from Marthe’s pocket, she was quite bursting with anger. 
When her son merely shrugged his shoulders like a man 
who despises such miserable matters, she, in her turn, had 
a stormy explanation with her daughter, whom she 
branded as a thief, as though she had taken the money 
from her own pocket. 

“There, mother, that will do!” Olympe cried impa¬ 
tiently. “It isn’t your purse, you know, that I have 
been lightening. Besides, I have only been borrowing a 
little money; I don’t make other people keep me.” 

“What do you mean, you wicked hussy?” Madame 
Faujas gasped out, quite bursting with indignation. 
“Do you suppose that we don’t pay for our food? Ask 
the cook,^and she will show you our account-book." 

Olympe broke out into a loud laugh. 

“Oh, yes, that’s very nice!" she cried; “I know that 
account-book of yours! You pay for the radishes and 
butter, don’t you? Stay downstairs by all means, mother, 
stay downstairs on the ground-floor. I don’t want to 
interfere with your arrangements. But don’t you come up 
here and worry me any more, or I shall make a row, and 
you know that Ovide has forbidden any noise up here." 

Marthe had no notion of the drama that was being played 
so close to her. To her the house simply seemed more 
lively and cheerful, now that all these people thronged 
about the lobby and the staircase and the passages. It 
was as noisy as an hotel with all the suppressed sounds 
of quarreling, the banging of doors, the independent and 
free life of each of the tenants, and the flaming fire in 
the kitchen, where Rose seemed to have a whole table- 
d’hote to provide for. There was a continual procession 
of tradesmen to the house. Olympe, who was very par- . 
ticular about her hands and refused to risk spoiling them 
by washing plates and dishes, had everything sent from 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


241 


outside, from a confectioner’s in the Rue de la Banne, 
who served meals to the towns-people. 

Mouret, however, to escape from all this noise, used to 
shut himself up in a room on the first floor, which he 
called his office. He had overcome his distaste for soli¬ 
tude, and he scarcely ever now went down in the garden. 

When the summer came round again, the house grew 
still livelier than before. The Abbd Faujas received 
the guests of the sub-prefecture and the president be¬ 
neath the arbor at the bottom of the garden. Rose, by 
Marthe’s orders, had bought a dozen rustic chairs, so 
that the visitors might enjoy the fresh air without the 
dining-room chairs having to be constantly disturbed. It 
was now quite a regular thing for the doors leading into 
the blind-alley to remain open every Tuesday afternoon, 
and the ladies and gentlemen came to salute the Abbd 
Faujas like friendly neighbors. The visitors arrived one 
by one, and then the two sets of guests gradually found 
themselves all mixed up together, gossiping and amus¬ 
ing themselves in the most complete familiarity. 

‘'Aren’t you afraid,” said Monsieur de Bourdeu to Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil one day,* “that these meetings with the sub¬ 
prefect’s friends may be ill-advised? The general elec¬ 
tions are getting near.” 

“Why should they be ill-advised?” Monsieur Rastoil 
asked. “We don’t go to the Sub-Prefecture; we keep 
on neutral ground. I keep my linen coat on, and it’s 
merely a private friendly visit. No one has any right 
to pass judgment upon what I do at the back of my 
house. In the front, it’s another matter. In the front, 
we belong to the public. When Monsieur Pdqueur and 
I meet each other in the streets we merely bow.” 

“Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies is a man who gains 
much by being known,” the ex-prefect ventured to say, 
after a short silence, 

j6 


243 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“Certainly, certainly," replied the president; “I am 
delighted to have made his acquaintance. And what a 
worthy man the Abbd Faujas is! No, no; I have no 
fear of any calumnies arising from our going to salute 
our excellent neighbor." 

Since the general elections had begun to be the sub¬ 
ject of conversation, Monsieur de Bourdeu had been very 
uneasy; he said that it was the increasing warmth that 
affected him. He frequently was assailed with doubts 
and scruples, which he confided to Monsieur Rastoil, that 
the latter might remove them and reassure him. Pol¬ 
itics, however, were never mentioned in the Mourets’ 
garden. One afternoon, Monsieur de Bourdeu, after 
having vainly tried to find some means of leading up to 
the matter, exclaimed abruptly, addressing himself to 
Doctor Porquier: 

“Tell me, doctor, have you seen the ‘Moniteur’ this 
morning? The marquis has at last spoken! He uttered 
just thirteen words; I counted them. Poor Lagrifoul! 
He has made himself very ridiculous!" 

The Abb6 Faujas raised his finger with an arch look. 
“No politics, gentlemen, no polities," he said. 

Monsieur P6queur des Sualaies was chatting with Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil, and they both affected not to have heard 
what was said. Madame de Condamin smiled as she 
continued her conversation with the Abbd Surin. 

“Aren’t your surplices stiffened with a very weak solu¬ 
tion of gum, your reverence?" she asked. 

“Yes, madame, with a weak solution of gum," the 
young priest replied. “Some laundresses use boiled 
starch, but that spoils the material and is worthless." 

“Well," returned the young woman, “I never can get 
my laundress to use gum for my petticoats." 

The Abbd Faujas was very polite and amiable to all his 
visitors,even to the terrible Condamin who caused so much 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


243 


disquietude. He effaced himself as much as possible, 
spoke but little, and allowed the two sets of guests to coa¬ 
lesce, seeming merely to experience the quiet satisfaction 
of a host who is happy to be the means of bringing together 
a number of distinguished people, who were in¬ 
tended to be on good terms with each other. Marthe 
had upon two occasions made her appearance, thinking 
that she would put the visitors more at their ease by 
doing so; but it distressed her to see the Abb6 in the 
midst of so many people, and she much preferred to see 
him walking slowly and seriously in the quiet of the 
arbor. The Trouches resumed their Tuesday watchings 
behind their curtains, while Madame Faujas and Rose 
craned their heads out from the doorway and admired 
with great delight the graceful manner in which his rev¬ 
erence received the chief people of Plassans. 

“Ah, madame! ” said the cook, “it is very easy to see 
that he is a distinguished person. Look at him bowing 
to the sub-prefect. I admire his reverence the most; 
though, indeed, the sub-prefect is a fine man. Why do 
you never go into the garden to them? If I were you, 
I would put on a silk dress and join them. You are his 
mother, you know, after all.” 

But the old peasant woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“Oh! he isn’t ashamed of me," she said; “but I prefer 
watching him from here; and I enjoy it more." 

“Yes, I can understand that. Ah! you must be very 
proud of him. He isn’t a bit like Monsieur Mouret, 
who nailed the door up, so that no one could come 
through it. There he is, shut up in his room, as though 
he were afraid they would give him the itch! By the 
way, shall we go up sometime and try to find out what 
he does?" 

One Tuesday they went upstairs together. On that 
afternoon the visitors had been very merry, and the sound 


244 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


of their laughter floated into the house through the open 
windows. Mouret was securely locked up in his office. 
“The key prevents me from seeing,” said Rose, who had 
applied her eye to the key-hole. 

“Wait a moment,” murmured Madame Faujas. She 
turned the end of the key, which protruded slightly, 
very carefully. Mouret was sitting in the middle of the 
room in front of a great empty table, coated with a 
thick layer of dust. There was not a single paper nor 
book upon it. He was lying back in his chair, his arms 
hanging listlessly down, gazing blankly into space. He 
sat perfectly still, without the slightest movement. 

The two women looked at him in silence, one after the 
other. 

“He has made me feel cold to the very marrow,” ex¬ 
claimed Rose, as they went downstairs again. “Did you 
notice his eyes? And what a state of filth the room is 
in! He hasn’t laid a pen on that desk for a couple of 
months past, and I thought he spent all his time therein 
writing. Fancy him amusing himself by shutting him¬ 
self up all alone like a corpse, when the house is so 
bright and cheerful!” 


XVII 

Marthe’s health was causing Doctor Porquier much 
anxiety. He still smiled in his pleasant way, and talked 
to her after the manner of a fashionable medical man for 
whom disease has never any existence, and who grants 
a consultation just as a dress-maker fits on a new dress; 
but there was a certain twist of his lip which told that 
the dear madame had something more seriously wrong 
with her than a slight spitting of blood, as he tried to 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


245 


persuade her. He advised her, now that the warm 
weather had come, to get a little change of surroundings 
and occupation by going out for drives, but taking care 
not to overfatigue herself. In obedience to the doctor’s 
directions, Marthe, twice a week, drove off, after lunch¬ 
eon, in an old refurbished carriage, which she hired 
from a coachbuilder in Plassans. She generally used to 
drive some six or seven miles, so as to get back home 
about six o'clock. Her great desire was to induce the 
Abbd Faujas to go with her, and it was only in the 
hope of accomplishing this that she had conformed with 
the doctor's directions; but the Abb£, without distinctly 
refusing to go with her, always excused himself on the 
ground that he was too busy to spare the time, and 
Marthe was obliged to content herself with the compan¬ 
ionship of Olympe or Madame Faujas. 

One afternoon as she was driving with Olympe 
toward the village of Les Tulettes, past the little estate 
of her uncle Macquart, the latter caught sight of her as 
he was standing upon his terrace, which was ornamented 
with two mulberry trees. 

"Where is Mouret?” he cried. "Why hasn’t Mouret 
come as well?” 

Marthe was obliged to stop for a moment or two to 
speal$ to her uncle, and to explain to him that she was 
not well, and could not stay to dine with him. He had 
expressed his determination to kill a fowl for the meal. 

"Well,” he said at last, "I will kill it all the same, 
and you shall take it away with you.” 

Then he hurried off to kill the fowl at once. When he 
came back with it, he laid it on the stone table in front 
of the house and .exclaimed with an expression of im¬ 
mense satisfaction: 

"Isn’t it a plump, splendid fellow?” 

When Marthe and Olympe drove up, Macquart had just 


246 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


been about to drink a bottle of wine under the shade of his 
mulberry trees, in company with a tall, thin young man, 
dressed entirely in gray. He persuaded the two women 
to leave the carriage and come and sit down for a time, 
and he brought them chairs and did the honors of his 
house with a snigger of satisfaction. 

“Have you seen your father lately?" he asked, abruptly. 
“Rougon isn’t a very amiable person. That corn-field 
over yonder to the left is for sale. If he had been 
willing we might have bought it. What would it have 
been to a man of his means? A paltry three thousand 
francs is all that is asked for it, but he refuses to have 
anything to do with it. The last time I went to see him 
he even made your mother tell me that he wasn’t at 
home. Well, you’ll see that that will be all the worse 
for them in the end.” 

He wagged his head and broke out into his unpleasant 
laugh, as he repeated several times over: 

“Yes, yes; it will be all the worse for them.” 

Then he went off to get some glasses, insisting upon 
making the two women taste his wine. It was that light 
wine which he had discovered at Saint-Eutrope, and in 
which he took a great pride. Marthe scarcely wetted her 
lips, but Olympe finished the bottle. Then she accepted 
a glass of syrup, saying that the wine was very strong. 

“And what have you done with your priest?” the uncle 
asked quite suddenly of his niece. 

Marthe looked at him in surprise and displeasure 
without making any reply. 

“I heard that he was sponging on you tremendously,” 
her uncle continued loudly. “These priests are fond of 
good living. When I heard about him, I said that it 
served Mouret quite right. I warned him. Well I shall 
be glad to help you to turn him out of the house. Mou¬ 
ret has only got to come and ask me and I will give him 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


247 


a helping hand. I’ve never been able to endure those 
fellows. I know one of them, the Abb6 Fenil, who has 
a house on the other side of the road. He is no better 
than the rest of them, but he is as malicious as an ape, 
and he amuses me. I fancy he does not get on very 
well with that priest of yours; isn't that so, eh?” 

Marthe had turned very pale. 

"Madame here is the sister of his reverence the Abb6 
Faujas,” she said, turning to Olympe, who was listen¬ 
ing with much curiosity. 

"What I said has no reference to madame,” Macquart 
replied quite unconcernedly. "Madame, I am sure, is 
not offended. She will take another glass of syrup?” 

Olympe accepted another glass of the syrup, but Mar¬ 
the rose from the seat and wanted to leave. Her uncle, 
however, insisted upon taking her over his grounds. At 
the end of the garden she stopped to look at a great 
white house that was built on the slope of the hill, a 
few hundred yards from Les Tulettes. Its inner courts 
looked like prison-yards, and the narrow symmetrical 
windows which streaked the front with their black lines 
gave to the main building the cheerless, naked look of 
a hospital. 

"That is the Lunatic Asylum,” cried Macquart, who 
had followed in the direction of Marthe’s eyes. "The 
young man here is one of the warders. We get on very 
well together, and he comes every now and then to have 
a bottle of wine with me.” 

Then, turning toward the man in gray, who was finish¬ 
ing his glass beneath the mulberry tree, he called out: 

"Here, Alexandre, come and show my niece which is 
our poor old woman's window.” 

Alexandre came politely up to them. 

"Do you see those three trees?” he said, stretching 
out his finger, as though he were drawing a plan in the 


248 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


air. “Well, a little below the one to the left, you can 
see a fountain in the corner of a court-yard. Follow the 
windows on the ground floor to the right; it is the fifth 
one.” 

Marthe stood in silence with blanched lips and her 
eyes fixed, in spite of herself, on the window which was 
pointed out to her. Uncle Macqaurt was looking at it 
as well, but with a complaisance which manifested itself 
in his blinking eyes. 

“I see her sometimes of a morning," he said, “when 
the sun is on the other side. She keeps very well, does 
she not, Alexandre? I always tell them so when I go to 
Plassans. I am very well placed here to keep a watch 
upon her. I couldn’t be anywhere better.” 

He broke out into his snigger of satisfaction. 

“The Rougons, you know, my dear, have got no 
stronger heads than the Macquarts, and I often tell my¬ 
self, as I sit out here in front of that big house, that all 
the lot will perhaps join the mother there some day. 
Thank Heaven, I’ve no fear about myself. My noddle 
is firmly fixed on. But I know some of them who are a 
little shaky. Well, I shall be here to receive them, and I 
shall see them from my den, and I will recommend them 
to Alexandre's kind attention, though they haven’t all of 
them always been particularly kind to me.” 

Then with that hideous smile of his that was like a 
captive wolf’s, he added: 

“It’s very lucky for you all that I am here on the spot 
at Les Tulettes." 

Marthe could not help trembling all over. Though 
she was well aware of her uncle’s taste for savage pleas¬ 
antries, and the pleasure he took in torturing the peo¬ 
ple to whom he presented his rabbits, she could not help 
fancying that he was perhaps speaking the truth, and 
that all the rest of the family would indeed come and 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


249 


take up their quarters in those gloomy tiers of cells. 
She insisted upon taking her immediate departure in 
spite of the pressing entreaties of Macquart, who wanted 
to open another bottle of wine. 

"Ah! where is the fowl?" he cried, just as she was 
getting into the carriage. He went back to find it, and 
he brought it and placed it upon her knees. 

"It is for Mouret, you understand," he said, with a 
malicious expression; "for Mouret, and for no one else. 
When I come to see you, I will ask him how he liked 
it.” 

He winked his eyes as he glanced at Olympe. The 
coachman was just going to whip his horse forward, 
when Macquart laid hold of the carriage again, and 
said: 

"Go and see your father and talk to him about the 
corn-field. See, it is that field just in front of us. 
Rougon is making a mistake. We are too old friends 
to quarrel about the matter; besides, as he very well 
knows, it would be worse for him, if we did. Let him 
understand that he is making a mistake.” 

Marthe was undergoing a complete change; she was 
becoming quite another woman. She had grown much 
more refined from the life of nervous excitement which 
she had been leading. She dressed herself better than 
she had been used to do, and she joined in the conver¬ 
sation when she went to the Rougons’ on Thursdays. 

"Madame Mouret is growing into quite a young girl 
again,” exclaimed Madame de Condamin in amazement. 

"Yes, indeed,” replied Doctor Porquier, nodding his 
head; "she is going through life backward.” 

Marthe, now grown much slimmer, with rosy cheeks 
and magnificent black flashing eyes, burst out for some 
months into singular beauty. Her face beamed with 


250 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


animation, and an extraordinary out-pouring of vitality 
seemed to be flooding her whole being and thrilling her 
with vibrating warmth. She was overwhelmed with 
a perpetual need and craving for prayer and devotion, 
and she no longer obeyed the Abb6 Faujas’ instructions 
She wore out her knees upon the flag-stones at Saint 
Saturnin’s, lived in the midst of canticles and offerings 
of praise arid worship, and took a sweet comfort to her¬ 
self in the presence of gleaming monstrances and bright¬ 
ly lit chapels, and priests and altars that glittered with 
star-like sheen through the dark gloom of the cathedral 
nave. She was compelled by her very suffering— 
she would have died if she had not yielded—to 
give her passion something on which to feed, to 
come and prostrate herself humbly in confession, to bow 
in lowly awe amidst the thrilling peals of the organ, and 
to faint with melting joy in the ecstasy of communion. 

The Abb6 Faujas redoubled the severity of his de¬ 
meanor toward her and tried to check her by the rude¬ 
ness of his manner. He was amazed at this passionate 
awakening of Marthe’s soul, at this ardent love of hers 
which was wearing her away. He frequently questioned 
her again on the subject of her childhood, and he went 
to see Madame Rougon, and remained for a long time in 
a state of great perplexity and dissatisfaction. 

The Abbd Faujas himself at last began to understand 
the necessity of no longer treating Marthe with harsh 
rudeness. He began to fear an outburst. He gradually 
allowed her greater liberty, permitted her to seclude her¬ 
self, to make long courses of devotion and to offer pray¬ 
ers at each of the Stations of the Cross, and he even 
gave her permission to come twice a week to his confes¬ 
sional at Saint-Saturnin’s. Marthe, now no longer thrilled 
by that terrible voice which seemed to impute her piety 
to her as a vice for which she sought a shameful satis- 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


251 


faction, believed that God had pardoned her and poured 
out His grace upon her. Now at last she thought she 
was entering upon all the joys of Paradise. She was 
overwhelmed with trances of sweet emotion, with inex¬ 
haustible floods of tears, which she shed without being 
conscious of their flow, and with nervous ecstasies from 
which she recovered weak and faint as though all her 
life-blood had evaporated from her veins. At these 
times, Rose would take her and lay her upon her bed, 
where she would lie for hours with the pinched lips and 
half-closed eyes of a dead woman. 

One afternoon the cook, alarmed at her state of per¬ 
fect motionlessness, was afraid that she was dead. She 
nevfer thought of knocking at the door of the room where 
Mouret had shut himself up, but she went straight to 
the second floor and besought the Abb6 Faujas to come 
down to her mistress. When he reached Marthe’s bed¬ 
room, Rose hastened off to find some ether, leaving the 
priest alone with the swooning woman lying across her 
bed. He merely took her hands within his own. Then 
Marthe began to move about and talk incoherently. 
When at last she recognized him standing by her bed 
side, a crimson tide of blood surged to her face, and she 
turned her head round on the pillow. 

“Are you feeling better, my dear child?’’he asked her. 
“You are making me very uneasy.” 

Her throat was too much choked for her to be able to 
reply to him, and she burst into tears, as she let her 
head slip upon the priest’s arm. 

“I am not ill,” she murmured in a voice so feeble that 
it was scarcely more than a breath; “I am too happy. 
Let me cry; I feel a joy in my tears. How kind of you 
to have come! I have been expecting you and calling for 
you for a long time." 

Her face broke into a smile as she breathed out these 


252 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

words of longing love, and she clasped her hands togeth¬ 
er as she fancied she saw the Abbd Faujas’ grave face 
circled by an aureole. The priest had hitherto always 
succeeded in checking a confession of this sort on Mar- 
the’s lips; he felt alarmed for a moment and hastily 
withdrew his arms. Then, standing quite upright, he 
said authoritatively: 

"Be calm and reasonable; I desire you to be so. God 
will refuse your homage if you do not offer it to him 
in calm reason. What presses most now is to restore 
your strength." 

Rose returned to the room, quite distracted at not 
being able to find the ether. The priest told her to re¬ 
main by the bedside, while he said to Marthe in gentle 
tones: 

"Don't distress yourself. God will be touched by your 
love. When the proper time comes, he will come down 
into you and fill you with an everlasting felicity." 

Then he quitted the room, leaving Marthe quite radi¬ 
ant and like one raised from the dead. From this day 
he was able to mold her like soft wax beneath his 
touch. She became extremely useful to him in certain 
delicate missions to Madame de Condamin, and she 
frequently visited Madame Rastoil upon his merely ex¬ 
pressing a desire that she should do so. She rendered 
him an absolute obedience, never seeking the reason of 
anything he told her to do, and saying just what he in¬ 
structed her to say. He no longer observed any precau¬ 
tion toward her, but bluntly taught her her lessons and 
made use of her as though she were a mere machine. 
She would have begged in the streets if he had ordered 
her to do so. When she became restless and disturbed 
and stretched out her hands to him, with bursting heart 
and lips swollen with passion, he suppressed her with a 
single word, and crushed her to the ground beneath the 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


253 


will of heaven. She never dared to make any reply. 

Between her and the priest there was a wall of anger 
and scorn. When the Abbd Failjas came away from one 
of the short struggles he used occasionally to have with 
her, he shrugged his shoulders with the disdain of a 
strong wrestler who has been opposed by a child; and 
he washed and brushed himself as though he had invol¬ 
untarily touched some unclean animal. 

Though Marthe was so pliant in the hands of the priest 
and was nothing but a mere chattel for him, she grew 
sourer and more querulous every day amidst all the 
little cares of household life. It was against her hus¬ 
band that she specially manifested an increasing bitter¬ 
ness and dislike. When Madame Faujas or Olympe came 
down-stairs to sit with her in the dining-room, she no 
longer observed any reticence but gave full vent to her 
bitterness against Mouret. Everything that he did, his 
looks, his gestures, the few words he uttered, all seemed 
to put her beside herself. She could not even see him 
without being carried away by an unreasoning anger. It 
was at the close of their meals, when Mouret, without 
waiting for the dessert, folded his napkin and silently 
rose from the table, that quarrels more especially oc¬ 
curred. 

“You might leave the table at the same time as other 
people,” Marthe would say bitterly; “it is not very po¬ 
lite of you to behave in that way.” 

“I have finished, and I am going away,” Mouret replied 
in his slow tones. 

He finished folding his napkin perfectly calm as 
though he had not heard a word of what his wife had 
been saying, and then, with slow and deliberate steps, 
he left the room. They could hear him go up-stairs 
and lock himself in his office. Then Marthe, choking 
with anger, burst out. 


254 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

"Oh, the monster! He is killing me; he is killing 
me! ” 

Some of their quarrels were especially violent. Mar- 
the, whose reason was on the verge of giving away, had 
got it into her head that her husband wanted to beat 
her. It was a fixed idea of hers. He had not dared to 
do it yet, she said, because he never found her alone, and 
in the night-time he was afraid lest she should cry out 
for assistance. Rose swore that she had seen her master 
hiding a thick stick in his office. Madame Faujas and 
Olympe showed no hesitaton in believing these stories, 
and they expressed the greatest pity for their landlady, 
and they discussed her troubles and constituted them¬ 
selves her protectors. The house was now in a constant 
state of alarm. 

"He is capable of any wickedness," the cook exclaimed. 

This year Marthe observed all the religious ceremo¬ 
nies of Passion Week with the greatest fervor. On Good 
Friday, in the black-draped church, while the candles 
were extinguished, one by one, amidst the mournful 
swell of voices which rose through the gloom-shrouded 
nave, it seemed to her as though her own breath was dy¬ 
ing away with the light of the candles. When the last 
one went out, and the black gloom in front of her seemed 
implacable and repelling, she fainted away. For an hour 
she remained bent in an attitude of prayer without the 
women who were kneeling around her being aware of 
the state in which she was. When she returned to her¬ 
self, the church was deserted. She imagined that she 
was being scourged with twigs and that the blood was 
streaming from her limbs; and she experienced such ex¬ 
cruciating pains in her head that she raised her hands 
to it, as if to pull out the thorns whose points she felt 
piercing her skull. She was in a strange condition at din- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


255 


ner that evening. She was still suffering from nervous 
excitement; when she closed her eyes, she saw the souls 
of the expiring candles flitting away through the dark¬ 
ness, and she examined her hands mechanically, looking 
for the wounds from which her blood had streamed. 
All the Passion was bleeding in her. 

Madame Faujas, seeing her so ill, persuaded her 
to go to rest early, and she accompanied her to her 
room and put her to bed. Mouret, who had a key of the 
bedroom,had already retired to his office,, where he spent 
his evenings. When Marthe, covered up to her chin 
with the blankets, said she was quite warm and was 
feeling better, Madame Faujas was going to blow out 
the candle that she might be better able to sleep; but 
Madame Mouret sprang up in fear and cried beseeching- 
ly: 

“No! no! don’t put out the light! Put it on the 
bureau so that I can see it. I should die if I were left 
in the dark! " 

She fell back upon the pillow and seemed to drop 
asleep, and then Madame Faujas silently left the room. 
This evening all the house was in bed by ten o’clock. 
As Rose went upstairs, she noticed that Mouret was still 
in his office. She looked through the key-hole and saw 
him lying asleep, with his head upon the table, with a 
kitchen-candle smoking dismally by his side. 

“Well, I won’t wake him,“ she said to herself as she 
continued her journey upstairs. “Let him get a stiff 
neck, if he likes to.” 

About midnight, when the whole house was wrapped 
in sleep, cries were heard proceeding from the first floor. 
At first they were dull wails, but they soon grew into 
loud shrieks, like the hoarse and choking calls for aid 
of one who is being murdered. The Abb6 Faujas, awaking 
with a start, called out to his mother, who scarcely gave 


256 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


herself time to slip on a petticoat before going to knock 
at Rose’s door and crying out: 

"Come down immediately! Pm afraid Madame Mou- 
ret is being murdered.” 

The screams rose louder than ever. The whole house 
was quickly stirring. Olympe made her appearance 
with her shoulders simply covered with a neckerchief, 
followed by Trouche, who had only a very short time 
before returned home, slightly intoxicated. Rose has¬ 
tened down the stairs followed by the lodgers. 

"Open the door, madam, open the door!" she cried ex¬ 
citedly, hammering with her fist upon Madame Mou- 
ret’s door. 

Deep sighs were the only answer returned; then there 
was the sound of a body falling, and a terrible struggle 
seemed to be going on on the floor in the midst of over¬ 
turned furniture. The walls shook with heavy blows, 
and a sound like a death-rattle passed under the door, 
so terrible that the Faujases and the Trouches turned 
pale as they looked at each other. 

"Her husband is murdering her,” Olympe murmured. 

"Yes, you are right : the brute is killing her,” said 
the cook. "I saw him pretending to be asleep as I came 
up to bed. He was planning it all then.” 

Then she began to thunder again upon the door with 
her two fists, almost heavily enough to break it. 

"Open the door, sir! We shall go for the police if 
you don’t. Oh, the scoundrel! he will end his days on 
the scaffold!” 

Then the groans and cries began again. Trouche said 
that the blackguard must be bleeding the poor lady like 
a fowl. 

"We must do something more than knock at the door," 
said the Abbd Faujas, coming forward. "Wait a mo¬ 
ment." 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS * 


257 


He put one of his broad shoulders against the door 
and forced it open with a slow continued effort. The 
women rushed into the room where the most extraordi¬ 
nary spectacle met their eyes. 

Marthe was lying panting on the middle of the floor, 
her night-dress torn and her flesh bleeding from scratches 
and grazes and discolored with blows. Her disheveled 
hair was twisted round the leg of a chair, and her hands 
had so firmly gripped the chest of drawers, that it was 
pulled out of is place and was now in front of the door. 
Mouret was standing in a corner, holding the candle and 
gazing at his wife writhing on the floor with an expres¬ 
sion of stupefaction on his face. 

The Abb£ Faujas had to push away the chest of drawers. 

“You are a monster! ” cried Rose, rushing up to Mou¬ 
ret and shaking her fist at him. “To treat a woman like 
this! He would have killed her, if we hadn’t got here 
in time to prevent him.” 

Madame Faujas and Olympe bent down over Marthe. 

“Poor dear! ” said the former. “She had a presenti¬ 
ment of something this evening and she was quite fright¬ 
ened.” 

“Where are you hurt?” Olympe asked. “There is 
nothing broken, is there? Look at her shoulder, it’s 
quite black; and her knee is dreadfully grazed. Make 
yourself easy; we are with you and we will protect you." 

Marthe was now only wailing like a child. While the 
two women were examining her, forgetting that there were 
men in the room, Trouche craned his head forward and 
cast leering glances at the Abb£, who was quietly putting 
the furniture in order. Rose helped Madame Faujas and 
Olympe to put Marthe back to bed, and when they had 
done so and had knotted up her hair, they all lingered 
for a moment, looking curiously round the room and 
waiting for explanations. Mouret was still standing in 
l 7 


258 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


the same corner holding the candle, and looking as though 
he were quite petrified by what he had seen. 

“I assure you,” he said, ‘‘that I haven’t hurt her; I 
haven’t touched her with the tip of my finger." 

‘‘You’ve been waiting for your opportunity this month 
past,” cried Rose furiously; “we all know that well 
enough; we have watched you. The dear lady was quite 
expecting your brutality. Don’t tell lies about it; that 
puts me quite beside myself!" 

The two other women cast threatening glances upon 
him, though they did not feel themselves authorized to 
speak to him in the same way as Rose had done. 

“I assure you," repeated Mouret in a gentle voice, “that 
I have not struck her. I was just going to get into bed, 
and the moment I touched the candle, which was stand¬ 
ing on the drawers she awoke with a start and stretched 
out her arms with a cry, and then she began to beat her 
forehead with her fists and to tear her flesh with her 
nails. ” 

The cook shook her head with a terrible expression. 

“Why didn’t you open the door?” she cried; “we knocked 
long enough.” 

“I assure you that I have done nothing,” he reiterated 
still more gently than before. “I could not tell what 
was the matter with her. She threw herself onto the 
floor and bit herself and leaped about so violently as to 
almost break the furniture. I did not dare to go near 
her; I was quite overcome. I cried out to you twice to 
come in, but she was screaming so loudly that she must 
have prevented you from hearing me. I was in a ter¬ 
rible fright. But I have done nothing, I assure you.” 

“Oh yes! She’s been beating herself, hasn’t she?” 
jeered Rose. 

Then, addressing herself to Madame Faujas, she add¬ 
ed : 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


259 


"He threw his stick out of the window, I’ve no doubt, 
when he heard us coming." 

Mouret at last put the candle back upon the chest of 
drawers and seated himself on a chair, placing his hands 
upon his knees. He made no further attempt to defend 
himself. The poor fellow had not a very ferocious ap¬ 
pearance as he sat there in his night-dress, with a yel¬ 
low handkerchief tied round his bald head. They all 
closed round the bed and looked at Marthe, who, with 
her contorted face, seemed to be waking up from a 
dream. 

"What is the matter, Rose? "she asked. “What are 
all these people doing here. I am quite broken down 
and exhausted. Ask them, I beg you, to leave me in 
peace." 

Rose hesitated for a moment. 

"Your husband is in the room, madame, ” she said at 
last. "Aren*t you afraid to remain alone with him?" 

Marthe looked at her with astonishment. 

“No, no; not at all,” she replied,” "Go away; I am 
very sleepy." 

Then the five people quitted the room, leaving Mouret 
sitting on the chair, staring blankly toward the bed. 

“He won’t be able to fasten the door again," the cook 
exclaimed as she went back up-stairs. "At the very first 
sound I shall fly down and be at him. I shall go to bed 
with my things on. Did you hear what stories the dear 
lady told to prevent his appearing such a brute? She 
would let herself be murdered before she would accuse 
him. What a hypocritical face he has got, hasn’t he?” 

The three women stood talking for a few moments on 
the landing of the second floor, holding their candle¬ 
sticks in their hands. Then they separated. The house 
resumed its former quietness, and the remainder of the 
night passed away peacefully. The next morning, when 


260 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


the three women eagerly referred to the terrible scene, 
they found Marthe nervous, and apparently shamefaced 
and confused. She made no replies to them and cut the 
conversation short. She Waited till she was alone before 
she went for a workman to come and mend the door. 
Madame Faujas and Olympe came to the conclusion that 
Madame Mouret’s reticence was caused by her desire 
to prevent a scandal. 

The next day, Easter Day, Marthe tasted at Saint- 
Saturnin’s the sweetness of an ardent awaking of her 
soul in the triumphant joys of the resurrection. The 
gloom of Good Friday was swept away by the bright¬ 
ness of Easter. She returned home with glistening eyes 
and a hot, dry tongue, and she sat up late, talking with 
a gayety that was unusual in her. When at last she 
went upstairs Mouret was already in bed. About mid¬ 
night, terrible cries again echoed through the house. 

The scene of two days before was repeated; only on 
this occasion, at the first knock at the door, Mouret, in 
his night-dress and with distracted face, at once came 
and opened it. Marthe, completely dressed, was lying 
on her stomach, sobbing violently and beating her head 
against the foot of the bed. The bodice of her dress 
looked as though it had been torn open, and there were 
two bruises on her naked throat. 

"He has been trying to strangle her this time! " Rose 
exclaimed. The women undressed her. Mouret, after 
he had opened the door, had got back into bed, trem¬ 
bling all over and as pale as a sheet. He made no attempt 
to defend himself and did not even appear to hear the 
indignant remarks that were made about him, but he 
simply covered himself up and lay close to the wall. 
Similar scenes now took place at irregular intervals. The 
house lived in a state of fear of a crime being commit¬ 
ted; and, at the slightest noise, the occupants of the 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


261 


second-floor were astir. Marthe still avoided all allusions 
to the matter, and she absolutely forbade Rose to pre¬ 
pare a folding bed for Mouret in his office. When the 
morning came, it seemed to take away from her the 
very recollection of the scene of the night. 

However, it gradually became bruited about in the 
neighborhood that strange things were happening at the 
Mourets’. It was reported that the husband belabored his 
wife every night with a bludgeon. Rose had made 
Madame Faujas and Olympe swear that they would say 
nothing about the subject, as her mistress seemed 
to wish to keep silent upon it; but she herself, 
by her expressions of pity and her allusions and 
reservations had materially contributed to setting 
afloat amongst the tradesmen the stories that were 
now being circulated. The butcher, who was a great 
joker, asserted that Mouret had thrashed his wife be¬ 
cause he had found her with the priest, but the green¬ 
grocer’s wife defended “the poor lady,” who was, she 
declared, an innocent lamb who was quite incapable of 
doing wrong. The baker’s wife considered that Mouret 
was one of those men who ill-treat their wives for mere 
pleasure and amusement. In the market-place people 
raised their eyes to heaven when they spoke of her, and 
they referred to her in the same terms of caressing en¬ 
dearment that they would have used in speaking of a 
sick child. When Olympe went to buy a pound of cher¬ 
ries or a basket of strawberries, the conversation inevit¬ 
ably turned upon the Mourets, and for a quarter of an 
hour there was nothing but a stream of sympathetic 
words. 

“Well how are things getting on in your house?” 

“Oh, don’t speak of it! She is weeping her life away. 
It is most pitiable. One could almost wish to see her 
die.” 


262 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

"She came to buy some anchovies the other day, and 
I noticed that one of her cheeks was torn.” 

"Oh yes! he nearly kills her! If you could only see 
her body as I have seen it! It is nothing but one big 
sore. When she is down on the ground he kicks her with 
his heels. I am in constant fear of finding that he has 
split her head open during the night when we come 
down in the morning.” 

"It must be very unpleasant for you, living in such a 
house. I should go somewhere else, if I were in your 
place. It would make me quite ill to be mixed up with 
such horrors every night.” 

‘But what would become of the poor woman? She is 
so refined and gentle! We stay on for her sake-five sous, 
isn't it, this pound of cherries?” 

"Yes; five sous.- Well it's very faithful of you, and 
you show a kind heart.” 

The story, however, was not credited among the higher 
classes of the inhabitants of Plassans. When it was 
mooted about the Cours Sauvaire it afforded the retired 
traders much amusement, as they sat in rows upon the 
seats, basking in the warm May sun. 

"Mouret is quite incapable of beating his wife,” said 
the retired almond-dealer; "he looks as though he had 
had a whipping himself, and he no longer even comes 
out for a turn on the promenade. His wife must be 
keeping him on dry bread.” 

"One can never tell,” said a retired captain; "I knew 
an officer in my regiment whose wife used to box his 
ears for a mere yes or no. That went on for ten years. 
Then one day she took it into her head to kick him; 
that made him quite furious and he nearly strangled her. 
Perhaps Mouret has the same dislike to being kicked as 
my friend had.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


263 


"He has probably a still greater dislike to priests,” 
said another of the company with a snigger. 

For some time Madame Rougon appeared quite un¬ 
conscious of the scandal which was occupying the atten¬ 
tion of the town. She preserved a smiling face and ig¬ 
nored the allusions which were made before her. One 
day, however, after a long visit from Monsieur Delan- 
gre, she arrived at her daughter’s house with an expres¬ 
sion of great distress and her eyes filled with tears. 

“Ah, my dear!” she cried, clasping Marthe. in her 
arms, "what is this that I have just heard? Can your 
husband really have so far forgotten himself as to have 
raised his hand against you? It is all a pack of false¬ 
hoods, isnt’ it? I have given it the strongest denial. 
I know Mouret. He has been badly brought up, but he 
is not a wicked man.” 

Marthe blushed. She felt that embarrassment and 
shame-faced confusion which she experienced every time 
this subject was alluded to in her presence. 

"Ah! madame will never complain!” cried Rose with 
her customary boldness. “I should have come and in¬ 
formed you a long time ago if I had not been afraid of 
madame being angry with me.” 

The old lady let her hands fall with an expression of 
extreme and shocked surprise. 

“It is really true, then,” she exclaimed, “that he beats 
you? Oh, the wretch! the wretch!” 

Then she began to cry. 

“For me to have lived to my age to see such things! 
A man that we have overwhelmed with kindnesses ever 
since his father’s death, when he was only a little clerk 
with us! It was Rougon who desired your marriage. I 
told him more than once Mouret looked like a scoundrel. 
He has never treated us well; and he only retired to 
Plassans for the sake of setting us at defiance with the 


204 THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS ANS 

few sous he has got together. Thank heaven, we stand 
in no need of him; we are richer than he is, and it is 
that that annoys him. He is very mean-spirited, and 
he is so jealous that he has always refused to set foot 
in my drawing-room. He knows he would burst with 
envy. But I won’t leave you in the power of such a 
monster, my dear. There are laws, happily. 

"Oh dont’ be uneasy! There has been very much ex¬ 
aggeration I can assure jmu,” said Marthe, who was 
growing more and more ill at ease. 

"You see that she is trying to defend him!” cried the 
cook. 

At this moment, the Abbd Faujas and Trouche, who 
were in deep consultation at the bottom of the garden, 
came up attracted by the sound of the voices. 

"I am a most unhappy mother, your reverence,” said 
Madame Rougon piteously. "My daughter is no longer 
under my protection and I hear that she is weeping her 
eyes out from ill-treatment. I beg of you who live in 
the same house, to protect and console her." 

Tho Abbd fixed his eyes upon her as though he were 
trying to find the key to this sudden manifestation of 
distress. 

"I have just seen some one whom I had. rather not 
name,” she continued, returning the Abbd’sgaze. "This 
person has quite alarmed me. God knows that I don’t 
want to do anything to injure my son-in-law! But it is 
my duty—is it not?—to defend my daughter’s interests. 
Well, my son-in-law is a wretch; he ill-treats his wife, 
he scandalizes the whole town and mixes himself up in 
all sorts of dirty, affairs. You will see that he will also 
compromise himself in political matters when the elec¬ 
tions come on. The last time it was he who put himself 
at the head of all the riff raff of the suburbs. It will 
kill me, your reverence!” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


265 


"Monsieur Mouret would never allow anyone to make 
remarks upon his conduct to him," the Abb£ ventured to 
say. 

"But I can’t abandon my daughter to such a man!" 
cried Madame Rougon. "I will not permit ourselves to 
be dishonored. Justice is not made to be cast to the 
dogs. ” 

Trouche was swaying himself about. He took advan¬ 
tage of a momentary silence. 

"Monsieur Mouret is mad!" he declared roundly. 

The words seemed to fall with all the stunning weight 
of a blow from a club, and everyone looked at the 
speaker. 

"I mean that he has a weak head, ” Trouche continued. 
"You’ve only got to look at his eyes. I can tell you that 
I don’t feel particularly easy myself. There was a man 
in Besancon who adored his daughter, still he murdered 
her one night without knowing what he was doing." 

"The master has been cracked for a long time past,” 
said Rose. 

"But this is frightful!” cried Madame Rougon. "Real¬ 
ly I think you are right. The last time I saw him, he 
had a most extraordinary expression. He has never had 
very sharp wits. Ah! my poor dear, promise to confide 
everything to me. I shall not be able to sleep quietly 
after this. Listen to me now; at the first sign of extrav¬ 
agant conduct on your husband’s part, don’t hesitate any 
longer, and don’t run any further risk—madmen must 
be placed in confinement!” 

After this speech she went away. When Trouche was 
again alone with the Abb6 Faujas, he sniggered with 
his unpleasant grin that exposed his black teeth to view. 

"Our landlady will owe me a big taper," he said. "She 
will be able to kick about at nights as much as she 
likes.” 


266 * THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

The priest, with his face quite ashy and his eyes bent 
down to the ground, made no reply. Then he shrugged 
his shoulders and went off to read his breviary under the 
arbor at the bottom of the garden. 


XVIII 

On Sundays Mouret, like many of the other retired 
traders, used to go out and stroll about the town. It 
was on Sundays only that he now emerged from that 
state of lonely seclusion in which he buried himself, 
overcome with a sort of shame. His Sunday outing was 
gone through quite mechanically. In the morning he 
shaved himself, put on a clean shirt, and brushed his 
coat and hat; then, after breakfast, he found himself 
in the street, without quite knowing how he got there, 
walking along with short steps, with his hands behind 
his back and looking very sedate and neat. 

As he was leaving his house one Sunday, he saw Rose 
talking with much animation to Monsieur Rastoil’s 
cook on the pathway of the Rue Balande. The two ser¬ 
vants dropped into silence when they caught sight of 
him. They looked at him with such a peculiar expres¬ 
sion that he felt behind him to find out whether his 
handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket. When 
he reached the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, he turned 
his head round and looked back and saw them still stand¬ 
ing in the same place. Rose was imitating the reeling 
of a drunken man, while the president’s cook was laugh¬ 
ing loudly. 

“I am walking too quickly and they are making fun 
of me,” Mouret thought. 

Then he slackened his pace. As he passed through the 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


2G7 


Rue de la Banne toward the market, the shop-keepers 
ran to their doors and followed him curiously with their 
eyes. As he went along, there was much excitement 
behind him, and the people clustered together in groups, 
and there was a great deal of talking mingled with 
laughs and grins. 

“Did you notice how quickly he was walking?” 

“Yes, indeed, when he wanted to stride across the 
gutter he almost jumped.” 

“It is said that they are all like that.” 

“I felt quite frightened. Why do they let him come 
out? It oughtn’t to be allowed.” 

Mouret was beginning to feel timid and he dared not 
venture to turn round again. He experienced a vague 
uneasiness, though he could not feel quite sure that it 
was about himself that the people were all talking. He 
quickened his steps and began to swing his arms about 
with an easy motion. He regretted that he had put on 
his old over-coat, a hazel-colored one and no longer of a 
fashionable cut. When he reached the market-place, he 
hesitated for a moment, and then he strode boldly on 
into the midst of the green-grocers’ stalls. The mere 
sight of him caused quite a commotion. 

All the housewives of Plassans formed a line about 
his path, and the market-women stood by their stalls, with 
their hands on their hips, and stared hard at him. The 
people pushed each other to get a sight of him, and 
some of the women mounted on to the benches in the 
corn-market. Mouret still further quickened his steps 
and tried to disengage himself from the crowd, not yet 
being able to believe that it was he who was the cause 
of all this excitement. 

“Well, anyone would think that his arms were wind¬ 
mill sails,” said a peasant-woman who was selling 
fruit. 


268 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


“He flies on like a shot; he nearly upset my stall,” 
exclaimed another woman, a green-grocer. 

“Stop him! stop him!” the millers cried facetiously. 

Mouret, overcome by curiosity, halted altogether and 
craned himself up on'the tips of his toes to see what 
was the matter. He imagined that someone had just 
been detected thieving. A loud burst of laughter broke 
out from the crowd, and there were shouts and hisses 
and all sorts of calls and cries. 

“There’s no harm in him; don’t hurt him.” 

“Ah! Pm not so sure of that. I shouldn’t like to 
trust myself too near him. He gets up in the night and 
strangles people." 

“He certainly looks a bad one.” 

“Has it come upon him quite suddenly?” 

“Yes, indeed, all at once. And he used to be so kind 
and gentle! Pm going away; all this distresses me. 
Here are the three sous for the turnips.” 

Mouret had just recognized Olympe in the midst of a 
group of women. She had bought some magnificent 
peaches which she was carrying in a very fashionable¬ 
looking hand-bag. She had evidently been relating some 
very moving story, for all the gossips who were surround¬ 
ing her were breaking out into smothered exclamations 
as they clasped their hands with expressions of pity 

"Then,” she was saying, “he seized her by the hair, 
and he would have cut her throat with a razor that was 
lying on the chest of drawers if we hadn’t arrived just 
in time to prevent the murder. Don’t say anything to 
her about it: it would only bring her more trouble.” 

“What trouble?” demanded Mouret in amazement of 
Olympe. 

The women hurried away, and Olympe assumed an ex¬ 
pression of careful watchfulness for her own safety as 
she warily slipped off, saying; 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


269 


“Don’t excite yourself, Monsieur Mouret. You had 
better go back home.” 

Mouret took refuge in a little lane that led to the 
Cours Sauvaire. The shouts and cries increased in vio¬ 
lence and for a few moments he was pursued by the an¬ 
gry uproar of the market-people. 

“What is the matter with them to-day?” he wondered 
to himself. “Could it be I they were jeering at? But 
I never heard my name mentioned. Something out of 
the common must have happened.” 

Then he took off his hat and examined it, imagining 
that perhaps some street lad had thrown a handful of 
mud at it. It was perfectly right, however, and there 
was nothing fastened onto his coat-tails. This exami¬ 
nation soothed him a little, and he resumed his sedate 
walk through the silent lane, and turned tranquilly into 
the Cours Sauvaire. 

The usual group of friends were sitting on the benches 
in the sun. 

“Hallo! there’s Mouret!” cried the retired captain 
with an expression of great astonishment. 

The liveliest curiosity manifested itself in the sleepy 
faces of the group. They stretched out their heads, 
without rising from their seats, leaving Mouret to stand 
in front of them. He examined them minutely from 
head to foot. 

“Ah! you are taking a little stroll?” said the captain 
who seemed the boldest. 

“Yes, just a short stroll,” replied Mouret, in a listless 
fashion. “It’s a very fine day.” 

The company exchanged meaning smiles. They were 
feeling chilly and the sky had just become overcast. 

“Very fine,” said the retired tanner; “you are easily 
pleased. It is true, however, that you are already wearing 


270 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

winter clothes. What a funny overcoat that is you’ve 
got." 

The smiles now grew into grins and titters. A sudden 
idea seemed to strike Mouret. 

"Just look and tell me,” he said, suddenly turning 
himself round, "if I have got a sun on my back.” 

The retired almond-dealers could no longer keep them¬ 
selves serious and they burst into laughter. The captain, 
who was the joker of the company, winked his eyes. 

"A sun?” he asked, "where?" I can only see a moon.” 

The others shook with laughter. They thought the 
captain excessively witty. 

"A moon?” said Mouret; "be kind enough to remove 
it. It has caused me much inconvenience." 

The captain gave him three or four taps on the back 
and then he said: 

"There, you are rid of it now. It must, indeed, be 
extremely inconvenient to have a moon on one’s back. 
You are not looking very well.” 

"I am not very well," Mouret replied in his listless 
indifferent voice. 

Then, imagining that he heard a titter, he added: 

"But I am very well taken care of at home. My wife 
is very kind and attentive, and she quite spoils me. But 
I am in need of rest, and that is the reason why I don’t 
come out now like I used to do, and am not seen about 
so much. When I am better, I shall look after business 
again.” 

"But,'’ interrupted the retired master-tanner bluntly, 
"they say it is your wife who is not very well." 

"My wife! There is nothing the matter with her! It 
is a pack of falsehoods! There is nothing the matter 
with her, nothing at all. People say things against us 
because we keep ourselves quietly at home. Ill, indeed! 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 271 

my wife! She is very strong and never even has so 
much the matter with her as a headache.” 

He went on speaking in short sentences, stammering 
and hesitating with the uneasy look of a man who is tell¬ 
ing falsehoods and the embarrassment of a whilom gos¬ 
sip who has become tongue-tied. The retired traders 
shook their heads with pitying expressions and the cap¬ 
tain tapped his forehead with his finger. A former hat¬ 
ter of the suburbs who had scrutinized Mouret from his 
cravat to the bottom button of his overcoat was now 
absorbed in the examination of his boots. The lace of 
the one on the left foot had come undone, and this 
seemed to the hatter a most extraordinary matter. He 
nudged his neighbor elbows and winked as he called 
their attention to the loosened lace. Soon all the bench 
had eyes for nothing else but the lace. It was the last 
proof. The men Shrugged their shoulders in a way that 
seemed to say that they had now lost their last spark 
of hope. 

“Mouret,” said the captain, in paternal tones, “fasten 
up your boot-lace.” 

Mouret glanced at his feet, but he did not seem to 
understand, an<£ he went on talking. Then, as no one 
replied to him, he became silent, and after standing 
there for a moment or two longer, he quietly continued 
his walk. 

“He will fall, Pm sure,” exclaimed the master-tanner, 
who had risen from his seat that he might keep Mouret 
longer in view. 

When Mouret got to the end of the Cours Sauvaire, 
and passed in front of the Young Men’s Club, he was 
again greeted with the smothered laughs which had fol¬ 
lowed him since he reached the street. He could dis¬ 
tinctly see S^verin Rastoil, who was standing at the door 
of the club, pointing him out to a group of young men. 


272 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

Clearly, he thought, it was himself who was thus pro¬ 
viding sport for the town. He bent his head down and 
was seized with a kind of fear, which he could not ex¬ 
plain to himself, as he stepped hastily along past the 
houses. Just as he was about to turn into the Rue Can- 
quoin, he heard a noise behind him, and, turning his 
head, he saw three lads following him; two of them 
were big, impudent-looking lads, while the third was a 
very small one, with a serious face, and he was holding 
in his hand a dirty orange which he had picked up out 
of the gutter. Mouret made his way along the Rue Can- 
quoin, and then, crossing over the Place des R6collets, 
he arrived in the Rue de la Banne. The lads were still 
following him. 

“Do you want your ears pulled?” he called out, sud¬ 
denly stepping up to them. 

They dashed on one side, shouting and laughing, and 
nade their escape from him, hopping away on their 
£nds and knees. Mouret turned very red, and felt that 
h was an object of ridicule. He felt a perfect fear of 
cossing the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, and passing in 
font of the Rougons’ windows with this following of 
sireet-arabs which he could hear increasing in numbers 
(and boldness behind him. As he went along, he was 
jobliged to go out of his way to avoid his mother-in-law, 
who was returning from vespers with Madame de Conda- 
min. 

“Wolf! wolf!” cried the lads. 

Mouret, with the perspiration breaking out on his 
brow and his feet stumbling against the flags, overheard 
old Madame Rougon say to the wife of the conservator 
of rivers and forests: 

“See! there he is, the scoundrel! It is disgraceful; 
and we can’t tolerate it much longer." 

Then Mouret could no longer restrain himself from 







THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


273 


setting off at a run. With swinging arms and a look of 
distraction upon his face, he rushed into the Rue Balande 
with about ten or a dozen street-arabs dashing after 
him. It seemed to him as though all the shop-keepers 
of the Rue de la Banne, and the market-women, and the 
promenaders in the Cours, the young men from the club, 
the Rougons, the Condamins, all Plassans, in fact, were 
surging onward behind his back, breaking out into 
laughs and jeers, as he sped up the steep slope of the 
street. The lads stamped their feet and slid along the 
pavement^ and made as much row in the usually quiet 
neighborhood as an escaped pack of hounds. 

"Catch him!” they screamed. 

"Did you ever see such a scare-crow as he looks in 
that overcoat of his?” 

"Some of you go round by the Rue Taravelle and then 
you'll nab him? !” 

"Cut along! cut along as hard as you can go!” 

Mouret, now quite frantic, made a desperate rush to¬ 
ward his door, but his foot slipped and he tumbled 
down onto the pathway, where he lay for a few mo¬ 
ments, quite overcome and motionless. The lads, afraid 
lest he should kick out at them, formed a circle round 
him and shrieked out screams of triumph, while the 
smallest of them stepping gravely forward, threw the 
rotten orange at Mouret, and it flattened itself against 
his left eye. Then the poor man got up with pain and 
difficulty, and went in at his own door without attempting 
to wipe himself. Rose was forced to come out with a 
broom and drive the young ragamuffins away. 

From this Sunday, all Plassans was quite convinced 
that Mouret was a lunatic who ought to be placed under 
restraint. The most surprising statements were made 
in support of this belief. It was said, for instance, that 
he shut himself up for days together in a perfectly empty 
18 


274 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS A NS 


room which had not been touched with a broom for a 
whole year; and those who circulated this story vouched 
for its truth, as they had it, they said, from Mouret's 
own cook. The accounts differed as to what he did in 
this empty room. The cook said that he pretended to 
be dead, a statement which thrilled the whole neigh¬ 
borhood with horror. The market-people firmly believed 
that he kept a coffin concealed in the room, and that he 
laid himself down at full length in it, with his eyes open 
and his hands upon his breast, and that he remained 
like that from morning till evening. 

Madame Rougon now ostentatiously came up to the 
house every other day. She entered it with an expres¬ 
sion of extreme uneasiness, and, as soon as the door was 
opened, she asked of Rose: 

“Well! has anything happened to-day?” 

Then, as soon as she caught sight of her daughter, 
she kissed her, and clasped her arms round her with a 
wild show of affection, as though she had been afraid 
that she would not find her alive. When Marthe told 
her that she was in no danger whatever, she looked at 
her with an expression of admiration, and exclaimed: 

‘You are a perfect angel! If I were not here to look 
after you, you would allow yourself to be murdered with¬ 
out muttering even a sigh. But make yourself easy; I 
am watching over you, and I am taking all precautions. 
The first time your husband raises his little finger 
against you, he will hear from me.” 

She did not explain herself any further. The truth of 
the matter was that she had paid visits to every official 
in Plassans, and she had in this way confidentially relat¬ 
ed her daughter’s troubles to the mayor, the sub-prefect, 
and the president of the tribunal, making them promise 
to observe an absolute secrecy about the matter. 

“It is a mother in despair who is addressing herself to. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


275 


you,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I am giving into 
your keeping the honor and reputation of my poor child. 
My husband would take to his bed if there were to be 
a public scandal, but I can’t wait till there is some fatal 
catastrophe. Advise me, and tell me what I ought to 
do.” 

The officials showed her the greatest smypathy and 
kindness. They did their best to reassure her, and they 
promised to keep a careful watch over Madame Mouret 
without in any way letting it be known, and, at the 
slightest sign of danger, to take some active step. 

This story of a lunatic in his senses, who waited till 
the stroke of midnight to become mad, gave an exciting 
interest to the meetings of the two parties of guests 
in the Mourets’ garden. They showed great alacrity in 
going to greet the Abb6 Faujas. The priest came down 
stairs at four o’clock, and proceeded to do the honors of 
the arbor with much friendliness and urbanity, but he 
persisted in keeping himself in the background, and did 
little more than nod his head in answer to what was 
said to him. For the first few days, only indireo allu¬ 
sions were made to the drama which was being enacted in 
the house, but one Tuesday, Monsieur Maffre, who was 
gazing at the front of it with an uneasy expression, fix¬ 
ing his eyes upon one of the windows of the first floor, 
ventured to ask: 

‘‘That is the room, isn’t it?” 

Then the two parties began, in low tones, to discuss 
the strange story which was exciting the neighborhood. 
The priest made some vague remarks: it was very sad, 
and much to be regretted, he said, and then he pitied 
everybody without venturing anything more explicit. 

‘‘But you, doctor,” asked Madame de Condamin of 
Doctor Porquier, ‘you who are the family doctor, what 
do you think about it all?” 


276 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/iNS 


Doctor Porquier shook his head for some time before 
making any reply, and affected a discreet reserve. 

“It is a very delicate matter,” he said at last. “Mad¬ 
ame Mouret is not in robust heath, and as for Monsieur 
Mouret—” 

“I have seen Madame Rougon,” said the sub-prefect. 
“She is very uneasy.” 

“Her son-in-law has always been obnoxious to her,” 
Monsieur de Condamin exclaimed bluntly. “I met Mou¬ 
ret myself at the club the other day, and he gave me a 
beating at piquet. He seemed to me to be as sensible 
as ever he was. The good man was never a Solo¬ 
mon. ” 

“I have not said that he was mad, in the common in¬ 
terpretation of the word,” said the doctor, thinking that 
he was being attacked; “but I merely say that I do not 
think it is prudent to allow him to be any longer at 
large." 

This statement of the doctor caused considerable ex¬ 
citement, and Monsieur Rastoil glanced instinctively at 
the wall which separated the two gardens. Every face 
was turned toward the doctor. 

“I once knew,” he continued, “a charming lady, who 
kept up a large establishment, giving dinner-parties, and 
receiving at her house the most distinguished members 
of society, and who showed much sense and wit in her 
conversation. Well, when that lady retired to her bed¬ 
room, she locked herself in, and spent a part of the 
night in crawling round the room on her hands and knees, 
barking like a dog. The people in the house for a long 
time imagined that she really had a dog in the room 
with her. This lady was an example of what we doc¬ 
tors call lucid madness." 

The Abb6 Surin’s face was wreathed with twinkling 
smiles as he glanced at Monsieur Rastoil’s daughters, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


277 


who appeared much amused by this story of a fashiona¬ 
ble lady turning herself into a dog. 

I once had, said the Abb£ Bourrette, "a very strange 
penitent. She had a mania for killing flies, and she 
never could see one without feeling an irrestible desire 
to capture it. She used to keep them at home strung 
upon knitting needles. When she came to confess, she 
would weep bitterly and accuse herself of the deaths of 
the poor creatures and believe that she was damned. I 
could never correct her of the habit.” 

This story of the Abb6 was very well received, and 
even Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies and Monsieur Ras- 
toil themselves condescended to smile. 

“There is no great harm done,” said the doctor, “so 
long as one confines oneself to killing flies. But the 
conduct of all lucid madmen is not so innocent as that. 
Some of them torture their families by some concealed 
vice, which has reached the degree of a mania; there 
are other wretched ones who drink and give themselves 
up to secret debauchery, who steal because they can’t 
help stealing, and who are mad with pride or jealousy 
or ambition. They are able to control themselves in 
public, and to carry out the most complicated schemes 
and projects, and to converse rationally and without giv¬ 
ing any one any reason to suspect their mental weakness, 
but as soon as they get back to their own private life 
and are alone with their victims, they abandon them¬ 
selves to their delirious ideas and become brutal savages. 
If they don’t murder straight out, they do it gradually." 

‘Well, now what about Monsieur Mouret?” asked 
Madame de Condamin. 

“Monsieur Mouret has always been a worrying, rest¬ 
less, despotic sort of man. His cerebral derangement 
has increased with his years. I should not hesitate now 
to class him amongst dangerous madmen. I had a 


278 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


patient who used to shut herself up, just as he does, in 
an unoccupied room, and spend the whole day in con¬ 
triving the most abominable actions.” 

“But, doctor, if that is your opinion, you ought to 
proffer your advice," exclaimed Monsieur Rastoil, “vou 
ought to warn those who are concerned.” 

Doctor Porquier seemed slightly embarrasses. 

“Well, we will see about it,” he said, smiling again 
with his fashionable doctor’s smile. “If it should be 
necessary and matters become serious, I will do my 
duty." 

The Abb6 Faujas had been listening with curiosity 
though he had taken no part in the conversation. Then 
when there was a temporary silence, he remarked that 
their talk about mad people had a depressing effect upon 
the ladies and suggested that the subject should be 
changed. Their curiosity was awakened, and the two 
sets of guests now began to keep a sharp watch upon 
Mouret’s behavior. The latter now only came out into 
the garden for an hour a day, while the Faujases re¬ 
mained sitting at table with his wife. Directly he ap¬ 
peared there, he came under the active surveillance of 
the Rastoils and the frequenters of the Sub-Prefecture. 
He could not stand for a moment in front of a bed of 
vegetables or examine a plant or even make a gesture of 
any sort without exciting, in the two gardens on his 
right and left, the most unfavorable comments. Every¬ 
one was turning against him. Monsieur de Condamin 
was the only one who still defended him. One day the 
fair Octavie said to him as they were at luncheon: 

“What difference can it make to you whether Mouret 
is had or not?" 

“To me, my dear? Absolutely none,” he said in 
astonishment. 

“Very well, then, allow that he is mad, since everyone 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


279 


says he is. I don’t know why you are so persistent in 
holding a contrary opinion to your wife’s. It won’t prove 
to your advantage, my dear. Have the intelligence, at 
Plassans, not to be too intelligent.” 

Monsieur de Condamin smiled. 

"You are right, my dear, as you always are," he said 
gallantly; "you know that I have put my fortune in your 
hands—Don’t wait dinner for me. I am going to ride 
to Saint-Eutrope to have a look at some timber they are 
felling.” 

Then he left the room, biting the end off a cigar. 

Madame de Condamin was well aware that he had a 
fancy for a young girl in the neighborhood of Saint- 
Eutrope; but she was very tolerant and she had even 
saved him twice from the consequences of scandalous 
intrigues. On his side, he felt very easy about his wife’s 
virtue; he knew that she was much too prudent to in¬ 
dulge in any love affair in Plassans. 

"You would never guess how Mouret spends his time 
in that room where he shuts himself up!” the conserva¬ 
tor of-rivers and forests said the next morning when he 
called in at the Sub-Prefecture. ‘‘He is counting all 
the s 9 s in the Bible. He is afraid of making any mis¬ 
take about the matter, and he has already commenced 
counting them for the third time. Ah! you were quite 
right; he is cracked from top to bottom!" 

One afternoon, Aur£lie, the elder of Monsieur Ras- 
toil’s two daughters, related with a blushing face how 
the previous night, having gone to look out of her win¬ 
dow about midnight, she had seen their neighbor prom¬ 
enading about his garden, carrying a big candle. Mon¬ 
sieur de Condamin thought the girl was making fun of 
him, but she gave the most minute details. 

"He held the candle in his left hand; and he knelt 


280 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS. 


down on the ground and dragged himself along on his 
knees, sobbing as he did so.” 

“Can it be possible that he has committed a murder 
and has buried the body of his victim in his garden?" 
said Monsieur Maffre, who had turned quite pale. 

Then the two sets of guests agreed to watch some 
night, till midnight if it were necessary, to try and clear 
the matter up. The following night they kept on the 
alert in the two gardens, but Mouret did not appear. 
Three nights were wasted in the same way. The Sub- 
Prefecture party were going to abandon the watch, and 
Madame de Condamin declined to stay out any longer 
under the chestnut-trees where it was so dreadfully dark, 
when a light was seen flickering through the inky dark¬ 
ness of the fourth night on the ground-floor of the Mou- 
rets’ house. When Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies’ 
attention was drawn to this, he slipped out into the 
Chevillottes alley to go and invite the Rastoils to come 
onto his terrace which overlooked the neighboring gar¬ 
den. The president, who was on the watch with his 
daughters behind the cascade, hesitated for a moment, 
reflecting whether he might not compromise himself 
politically by going in this way to the sub-prefect’s, but 
as the night was very dark and his daughter Aur61ie was 
most anxious to have the truth of her report manifested, 
he followed Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies with stealthy 
steps through the darkness. It was in this manner that 
a representative of Legitimacy at Plassans for the first 
time entered the grounds of a Bonapartist official. 

“Don’t make a noise," whispered the sub-prefect. 
“Lean over the terrace.” 

There Monsieur Rastoil and his daughters found Doc¬ 
tor Porquier and Madame de Condamin and her husband. 

The darkness was so dense that they exchanged saluta¬ 
tions without being able to see one another. Then they 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


281 


all held their breath. Mouret had just appeared upon 
the steps, holding a candle stuck in a great kitchen can¬ 
dle-stick. 

“You see he has got a candle,” whispered Aur£lie. 

No one dissented. The fact was quite incontroverti¬ 
ble; Mouret certainly was carrying a candle. He came 
slowly down the steps, turned to the left and then stood 
motionless before a bed of lettuces. He then raised his 
candle to throw a light upon the plants. His face looked 
yellow against the black background of the night. 

“What a dreadful face!” exclaimed Madame Conda- 
min. “I shall dream of it, I’m certain. Is he asleep, 
doctor?” 

“No, no; replied Doctor Porquier, “he is not a som¬ 
nambulist; he is wide awake. Do you notice how fixed 
his gaze is? Observe, too, the abruptness of his move¬ 
ments—” 

“Hush! hush!” interrupted Monsieur P£queur des 
Saulaies; “we don’t require a lecture just now.” 

Then there was the most complete silence. Mouret 
had stridden over the box edging and was kneeling down 
in the midst of the lettuces. He held his candle down, 
and he began to search along the trenches underneath the 
spreading leaves of the plants. Every now and then he 
made a slight exclamation and he seemed to be crushing 
something and stamping it into the ground. This went 
on for nearly half an hour. 

“He is crying; it is just as I told you,” said Aur^lie 
complacently. 

“It is really very terrifying,” Madame de Condamin 
exclaimed nervously. “Let us go back into the house, 
I beg.” 

Mouret dropped his candle and it went out. They 
could hear him uttering exclamations of annoyance as he 
went back up the steps, stumbling against them in the 


282 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

dark. The Rastoil girls broke out into slight cries of 
terror, and they did not quite recover from their fright 
till they got back to the brightly lighted 1 ittle drawing¬ 
room, where Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies insisted 
upon the company refreshing themselves with some tea 
and biscuits. Madame de Condamin was still trembling 
with alarm, and she huddled herself up in the corner of 
a couch and said, with a touching smile, that she had 
never felt so overcome before, not even on the morning 
when she had had the reprehensible curiosity to go and 
see a criminal executed. 

"It is strange,” remarked Monsieur Rastoil, who had 
been buried in thought for a moment or two; "but Mou- 
ret had all the appearance of searching for slugs amongst 
his lettuces. The gardens are quite destroyed with 
them, and I have been told that they can only be satis¬ 
factorily exterminated in the night-time.” 

"Slugs, indeed!” cried Monsieur de Condamin. Do 
you suppose he troubles himself about slugs? Do peo¬ 
ple go hunting for slugs with a candle? No; I agree with 
Monsieur Maffre in thinking that there is some crime at 
the bottom of the matter. Has this Mouret ever had a 
servant who disappeared mysteriously? There ought to 
be an inquiry made.” 

Monsieur P£queur des Saulaies thought that his friend 
the conservator of river and forests was theorizing a lit¬ 
tle further than the facts warranted. He took a sip at 
his tea and said: 

"No, no; my dear sir. He is mad and has extraordi¬ 
nary fancies, but that is all. It is quite bad enough as 
it is.” 

He took the plate of biscuits and handed it to Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil’s daughter with a gallant bow and then 
putting it down again he continued: 

"And to think this wretched man has mixed himself 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSANS 


283 


lip in politics! I don’t want to insinuate anything 
against your alliance with the Republicans, my dear pres¬ 
ident; but you must allow that in him the Marquis de 
Lagrifoul had a very peculiar supporter.” 

Monsieur Rastoil had become very grave. He merely 
made a vague gesture, without saying anything. 

“And he still busies himself with these matters. It is 
politics, perhaps, which are turning his brain,” said the 
fair Octavie, as she delicately wiped her lips. “They 
say he takes the greatest interest in the approaching 
elections, don’t they, my dear?” 

She addressed this question to her husband, casting a 
glance at him as she spoke. 

“He is quite bursting over it!” cried Monsieur de 
Condamin. “He declares that he can entirely control 
the election, and that he can have a shoemaker returned 
if he chooses. ” 

“You are exaggerating,” said Dr. Porquier. “He has 
no longer the influence he used to have; the whole town 
jeers at him.” 

“Ah! you are mistaken! If he chooses, he can lead 
to the poll the whole of the old quarter of the town and 
a great number of villages. He is mad, it is true, but 
that is a recommendation. I myself consider him still a 
very sensible person, for a Republican. ” This very mod¬ 
erate attempt at wit met with a distinct success. Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil’s daughters broke out into their school-girl 
laughs and the president himself nodded his head in ap¬ 
probation. He threw off his serious expression, and, 
avoiding looking at the sub-prefect, he said: 

“Lagrifoul has perhaps not rendered us the services 
we had a right to expect, but a shoemaker would be 
really too disgraceful for Plassans! ” 

Then, as though he wanted to prevent any further re¬ 
marks on the subject, he added quickly: “It is half-past 


284 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


one; it is quite an orgie we are having, my dear sub¬ 
prefect, we are all very much obliged to you.” 

Madame de Condamin, as she wrapped her shawl 
round her shoulders, contrived to have the last word. 

"Well,” she said, “we really must not let the election 
be controlled by a man who goes and kneels down in 
the middle of a bed of lettuces after twelve o’clock at 
night.” 

This night became quite historical, and Monsieur de 
Condamin derived much amusement from relating the 
details of what had occurred to Monsieur de Bourdeu 
and Monsieur Maffre and the priests who had not seen 
Mouret with his candle. Three days later all the neigh¬ 
borhood was asserting that the madman who beat his 
wife had been seen walking about with his head envel¬ 
oped in a sheet. The afternoon assemblies under the 
arbor were much exercised by the possible candidature 
of Mouret’s shoemaker. They laughed as they studied 
each other’s expression. It was a sort of political pulse¬ 
feeling. Certain confidences of his friend, the president^ 
induced Monseiur de Bourdeu to believe that a tacit un¬ 
derstanding might be arrived at between the Sub-Prefect., 
ure and the moderate opposition, to promote the candi¬ 
dature of himself and inflict a crushing defeat upon the 
Republicans. Possessed with this idea he became more 
and more sarcastic against the marquis and made the 
most of all his blunders in the Chamber; Monsieur Del- 
angre, who only came at long intervals, alleging the 
cares of his municipal administration as an excuse for 
his infrequent appearance, smiled softly at each fresh 
sally of the ex-prefect. 

“You’ve only got to bury the marquis now, your rev¬ 
erence,” he said one day in the Abb£ Faujas’ ear. 

Madame de Condamin, who heard him, turned her 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


285 


head and laid her finger upon her lips with a pretty look 
of mischief. 

The Abb 6 Faujas now allowed politics to be mentioned 
in his presence. He even occasionally expressed an 
opinion in favor of a union of all honest and religious 
men. Then all present, Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies, 
Monsieur Rastoil, Monsieur de Bourdeu, and even Mon¬ 
sieur Maffre, grew quite warm in their expressions of 
desire for such an agreement. Sometimes Mouret’s 
name was mentioned, and Monsieur de Condamin said 
once: 

“I never let my wife come here without feeling un¬ 
easy. I am really quite alarmed. You will see some 
strange things happen at the next elections if he is still 
at liberty.” 

Trouche did his best every morning to frighten the 
Abb 6 Faujas during the interview which he regularly 
had with him. He told him the most alarming stories. 
The working-men of the old quarter of the town, he said, 
were showing too great an interest in Mouret, and they 
talked of coming to see him and judging of his condi¬ 
tion for themselves and taking his advice. 

The priest usually merely shrugged his shoulders. 
One day, however, Trouche left him looking quite de¬ 
lighted. He went off to Olympe and kissed her, exclaim¬ 
ing: 

“This time, my dear, I have managed it!” 

“Has he given you leave?” she asked. 

“Yes, full leave. We shall be delightfully comforta¬ 
ble when we have got rid of the old man.” 

Olympe was still in bed. She dived down under the 
bedclothes, and wriggled about delightedly and laughed 
gleefully. 

“We shall have everything to do as we like with, 
shan’t we? I shall take another bedroom, and I shall 


28G 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


go out into the garden, and I shall do my cooking down 
stairs in the kitchen. My brother will have to let us do 
all that. You must have managed to frighten him very 
much. ” 

It was not till about ten o’clock that evening that 
Trouche made his appearance at the low cafd where he 
was accustomed to meet Guillaume Porquier and other 
wild young men. They joked him about his lateness 
and playfully accused him of having been out of the 
ramparts with one of the girls of the Home of the Virgin. 
Pleasantry of this kind generally pleased him, but to¬ 
night he remained very grave. He said that he had 
been engaged with business, very serious business. It 
was not till toward midnight, when he had emptied the 
decanters on the counter, that he became more unre¬ 
served and expansive. Then he began to talk stammer¬ 
ingly "and familiarly to Guillaume, leaning his back 
against the wall, and lighting his pipe afresh between 
every two sentences. 

“I have seen your father this evening. He is a very 
good fellow. I wanted a paper from him. He was very 
kind, very kind indeed. He gave it to me. I have it 
here in my pocket. He didn’t want to give it to me at 
first, though. He said it was only the family’s busi¬ 
ness. I said to him, ‘I am the family; I have got the 
wife’s orders.’ You know her, don't you; a dear little 
woman. She seemed quite pleased when I went to talk 
the matter over with her beforehand. Then he gave me 
the paper. You can feel it here in my pocket.” 

Guillaume looked at him keenly,concealing his extreme 
curiosity under an incredulous laugh. 

“I’m telling you the truth,” the intoxicated man con¬ 
tinued. “The paper is here in my pocket. Can't you 
feel it?” 

“Oh! it's a newspaper!” said Guillaume. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


287 


Then Trouche sniggered and drew out a large envel¬ 
ope from the pocket of his overcoat and laid it upon 
the table in the midst of the cups and glasses. For a 
moment he prevented Guillaume, who had reached out 
his hand toward it, from taking it up, but then he allowed 
him to have it, laughing loudly as though some one 
were tickling him. The paper was a minutely detailed 
statement by Doctor Porquier on the mental condition 
of Francois Mouret, householder, of Plassans. 

"Are they going to shut him up, then?" asked Guil¬ 
laume, handing back the paper. 

"That’s no business of yours, my boy,” replied Trouche, 
who had now become distrustful again. "This paper 
here is for his wife. I am merely a friernd who is glad 
to be able to do a service. She will act as she pleases. 
She can’t go on any longer allowing herself to be half- 
murdered, poor lady. ” 

By the time they were turned out of the caf6, he was 
so drunk that Guillaume had to accompany him to the 
Rue Balande. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep 
on every seat in the Cours Sauvaire. When they reached 
the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, he began to cry as he 
said: 

"I have no friends now; every one despises me just be¬ 
cause I am poor. But you are a good-hearted young fel¬ 
low, and you shall come and have coffee with us when we 
get into possession. If the Abb6 interferes with us, we 
will send him to keep the other one company. He isn’t 
very sharp, the Abb£, in spite of his grand airs. I can 
persuade him into believing anything. But you are a 
real friend, aren’t you? Mouret is done for; we will 
drink his wine together.” 

When Guillaume had seen Trouche to his door, he 
walked through the sleeping town and went and whistled 
softly before the magistrate’s house. It was a signal 


288 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


he was making. The young Maffres, whom their father 
locked up with his own hand in their bedroom, opened 
a window on the first-floor and descended to the ground 
by the aid of the bars with which the ground-floor win¬ 
dows were protected. Every night they thus went off to 
the haunts of vice in the company of Guillaume Por- 
quier. 

“Well,” he said to them, after they had reached in 
silence the dark paths of the ramparts, ‘‘we needn’t 
trouble ourselves, now. If my father talks any more 
about sending me off to some hole of a place, I shall 
have something to say to him. Will you bet that I can’t 
have myself elected into the Young Men’s Club when¬ 
ever I like?” 

The young Maffres took the bet, and then they all 
three glided into a yellow house with green shutters that 
was built in an angle of the ramparts at the end of a 
blind alley. 

The following night Marthe was in a dreadful state. 
She had been present in the morning at a long relig¬ 
ious ceremony, the whole of which Olympe had insisted 
upon seeing. When Rose and the lodgers ran into the 
room upon hearing her piercing screams, they found her 
lying at the foot of the bed with the skin of her forehead 
gashed open. Mouret was kneeling in the midst of the 
bedclothes, trembling all over. 

“He has killed her this time!” cried the cook. 

She seized Mouret in her arms, although he was in his 
night shirt, and pushed him out of the room and into 
his office, the door of which was on the other side of the 
landing; and then she went back to get a mattress and 
some blankets which she threw to him. Trouche had 
set off running to find Doctor Porquier. When the doc¬ 
tor arrived he dressed Marthe’s wound. If the cut had 
been a trifle lower down, he said, it would have been 


289 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

fatal. Downstairs in the lobby, he declared in the pres¬ 
ence of them all that it was necessary to take some active 
steps, and that Madame Mouret’s life could no longer be 
left at the mercy of a violent madman. 

The next morning Marthe was obliged to keep her bed. 
She was still slightly delirious, and she fancied that 
she saw an iron hand driving a flaming sword into her 
skull. Rose absolutely declined to allow Mouret to 
enter the room. She served him his lunch on a dusty 
table in his own office. He ate nothing and he was gaz¬ 
ing at his plate with a look of stupefaction when Rose 
ushered into the room three men dressed in black. 

Are you the doctors? ’ he asked. “How is she get¬ 
ting on?” 

She is better than she was,” replied one of the men. 

Mouret began to cut his bread mechanically as though 
he was going to eat it. 

“I wish the children were here,” he said. “They 
would look after her and we should be more lively. It 
is since the children went away that she has been ill. 
I am no longer good for anything.” 

He raised a piece of bread to his mouth, and heavy 
tears trickled down his face. The man who had already 
spoken now said to him, casting at the same time a 
glance at his two companions : 

“Shall we go and fetch your children?” 

“I should like it very much,” repiied Mouret, rising 
from his seat. “Let us start at once.” 

As he went downstairs he saw no one except Trouche 
and his wife, who were leaning over the balustrade on the 
second floor, following each step he took downstairs with 
their gleaming eyes. Olympe hurried down quickly be¬ 
hind him and rushed into the kitchen where Rose, in a 
state of great emotion, was watching out of the window. 
When a carriage, which was waiting at the door, had 

'9 


290 


THE CONQUEST OF PLHSSHNS 


driven off with Mouret, she sprang up the staircase 
again, leaping up four steps at a time, and seizing 
Trouche by his shoulders, she made him dance round the 
landing in a paroxysm of delight. 

"He’s packed off!” she cried. 

Marthe kept her bed for a week. When she was able 
to come downstairs again and took her place at the table 
in the dining room, she began to manifest some aston¬ 
ishment, and asked uneasily where her husband was. 

“Now, my dear lady, don’t distress yourself,” said 
Madame Faujas, “or you will make yourself ill again. 
It was absolutely necessary that something should be 
done, and your friends felt bound to consult together 
and take steps for your protection.” 

Marthe listened to these words with staring eyes and 
a deadly pale face. She had let her spoon fall from her 
hand, and she gazed out of the window in front of her 
as though the sight of some dreadful vision rising from 
behind the fruit-trees in the garden was filling her with 
terror. 

“Les Tulettes! Les Tulettes! ” she gasped out, as she 
buried her face in her trembling hands. 

She fell backward and was fainting away from nervous 
excitement, when the Abb6 Faujas, who had finished his 
soup, grasped her hands, pressed them tightly, and said 
in his softest tones: 

“Show yourself strong before this trial which God is 
sending upon you. He will afford you consolation if you 
do not show yourself rebellious, and he will grant you 
the happiness you deserve.” 

Beneath the pressure of the priest’s hands and the 
tender inflections of his words, Marthe revived and sat 
up again with brightly flushed cheeks. 

“Oh, yes! ” she cried, as she broke out into sobs, “I 
have great need of happiness; promise me great happi¬ 


ness. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


291 


XIX 

The general elections were to take place in October. 
About the middle of September, Monseigneur Rousselot 
suddenly set off to Paris, after having had a long inter¬ 
view with the Abbd Faujas. It was said that one of his 
sisters, who lived at Versailles, was seriously ill. Five 
days after, he was back in Plassans again, and he called 
the Abbd Surin into his study to read Greek to him. 

“Good, very good," he said; "you express the music 
of that beautiful tongue excellently.” 

Then, glancing at the time-piece with an expression 
of uneasiness, he added: 

Has the Abb6 Faujas been here yet this morning? 
Ah, my child, what a dreadful time I’ve had! My ears 
are still buzzing with the abominable uproar of the rail- 
way. It was raining the whole time I was in Paris.” 

The Abb6 Surin laid down his book on the corner of a 
small table. 

“Is your lordship satisfied with the results of your jour¬ 
ney? he asked, with the familiarity of a petted favor¬ 
ite. 

“I have learned what I wanted to know,” the bishop 
replied with his subtile smile. “I ought to have taken 
you with me. You would have learned a good many 
things that it would be useful for you to know at your 
age and destined as you are for the episcopate.” 

I am listening, my lord.” said the young priest with 
a beseeching expression. 

But the prelate shook his head. 

“No, no; .these matters are not to be spoken of. Make 
a friend of the Abbd Faujas. He may be able to do 


292 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


much for you some day. I have received full informa¬ 
tion about him.” The Abb6 Surin clasped his hands 
with such a wheedling look of curiosity that Monseig¬ 
neur Rousselot went on to say: 

"He had some bother of some sort at Besancon. Af¬ 
terwards he was living in great poverty in furnished 
apartments in Paris. He went and offered himself. Just 
at that time the minister was on the look-out for priests 
devoted to the government. I was told that at first 
Faujas quite frightened him with his fierce looks and 
old cassock. It was purely by chance that he sent him 
here. The minister was most pleasant and courteous to 
me.” 

The bishop finished his sentences with a slight wave 
of his hand as he sought about for fitting words, and 
feared to say too much. But at last the affection which 
he felt for his secretary got the better of his caution and 
he continued with more animation: 

“Take my advice and try to be useful to the vicar of 
Saint-Saturnin’s. He will want all the assistance he 
can get, and he seems to me to be a man who will never 
forget either an injury or a kindness. But don’t ally 
yourself with him. He will end badly. That is my 
impression. ” 

“End badly?” exclaimed the young priest in surprise. 

“Oh! just now he is in the full swing of triumph. It 
is his face which disquiets me, my child. He has a ter¬ 
rible face. That man will never die in his bed. Don’t 
you do anything to compromise me. All I ask for is to 
be allowed to live tranquilly.” 

The Abb6 Surin was just taking up his book again, 
when the Abb£ Faujas was announced. Monseigneur 
Rousselot advanced to meet him with outstretched 
hands and a smiling face, addressing him as “my dear 
vicar.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 293 

“Leave us, my child,” he said to his secretary, who 
thereupon retired. 

He spoke of his journey. His sister was better than 
she had been, he said and he had been able to shake 
hands with some of his old friends. 

“And did you see the minister?” asked the Abb6 Fau- 
jas, fixing his eyes keenly upon him. 

“Yes; I thought it was my duty to call upon him,” 
replied the bishop, who felt that he was blushing. “He 
spoke to me very favorably indeed of you.” 

‘Then you have no longer any doubts and you trust 
yourself to me absolutely?” 

“Absolutely, my dear vicar. Besides, I know nothing 
about politics myself, and I leave everything in your 
hands.” 

They remained talking together the whole morning. 
The Abb6 Faujas got the bishop to promise to make 
a perambulation through his diocese, and the priest said 
he would go with him and prompt him as to what he 
was to say. It would be necessary, as well, to summon 
all the rural deans so that the priests of the smallest 
villages might receive their instructions. There would 
be no difficulty in all this, for the clergy would act as 
they were told. The most delicate task would be in 
Plassans itself, in the district of Saint-Marc. The aris¬ 
tocrats, shutting themselves up in the privacy of their 
houses, were entirely beyond the reach of the priest’s 
influence, and up till now he had only been able to work 
upon the ambitious royalists, such men as Rastoil and 
Maffre and Bourdeu. The bishop undertook to sound 
the feelings of certain drawing-rooms in the district of 
Saint-Marc where he visited. But even allowing that 
the aristocracy voted adversely, they would be in a ridic¬ 
ulous minority if they were deserted by those of the mid¬ 
dle classes who were amenable to clerical influence. 


294 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


"Now said Monseigneur Rousselot as he rose from 
his seat, "it would perhaps be as well if you told me the 
name of your candidate that I may recommend him in 
my letters.” 

The Abb6 Faujas smiled. 

“It is dangerous to mention names," he said. "There 
wouldn’t be a scrap of our candidate left in a week’s 
time, if we made his name known now. The Marquis 
de Lagrifoul has become quite out of the question. 
Monsieur de Bourdeu, who is counting upon being a 
candidate, is still more so. We shall leave them to de¬ 
stroy each other, and then, at the last moment,we shall 
come forward. Just say that an election on purely politi¬ 
cal ground would be much to be regretted, and that what 
is necessary for the interests of Plassans is that some man 
should be chosen who is not a party man, but one who 
has an intimate knowledge of the needs of the town and 
the department. And you may let it be understood that 
such a man has been found; but don’t go any further.” 

The bishop now smiled in his turn. He detained the 
priest for a moment as he was about to take his leave. 

"And the Abb6 Fenil?” he said, lowering his voice. 
“Are you not afraid that he will do all he can to thwart 
your plans?” 

The Abb6 Faujas shrugged his shoulders. 

“He has made no sign at all,” he said. 

"It is exactly that quietness of his that makes me un¬ 
easy,” returned the prelate. "I know Fenil well. He 
is the most vindictive priest in my diocese. He may pos¬ 
sibly have abandoned the ambition of beating you in the 
political arena, but you may be sure he will take a per¬ 
sonal vengeance upon you. I have no doubt he is keep¬ 
ing a watch over you in his retirement.” 

“Poohl" said the Abb6 Faujas, showing his white teeth. 
“I’ll take care he doesn’t eat me up.” 


the conquest of p lass ans 


295 


The Abb £ Surin had just returned into the room, and 
when the vicar of Saint-Saturnin’s had gone, he made 
the bishop laugh by exclaiming: 

"If they could only eat each other up like a couple of 
foxes, and leave nothing but their tails!” 

The electoral campiagn was on the point of commenc¬ 
ing. Plassans, which generally remained quite calm and 
unexcited by political questions, was beginning to get 
a little feverish and perturbed. An invisible mouth 
seemed to be breathing war through its quiet streets. 
The Marquis de Lagrifoul who lived at La Palud, a 
large straggling village in the neighborhood, had been 
on a visit for the last fortnight at the house of a rela¬ 
tive of his, the Comte de Valqueyras, whose mansion 
was one of the largest in the district of St. Marc. He 
showed himself about the town, promenaded in the Cours 
Sauvaire, attended Saint-Saturnin’s, and bowed to the 
influential towns-people, but without succeeding in throw¬ 
ing aside his haughty reserve. These attempts at being 
affable and popular, which had once been attended with 
success, now seemed to fail. Fresh charges and accusa¬ 
tions were bandied about every day, originating from 
some unknown source. The marquis, it was asserted, 
was a miserably incompetent man. With any other rep¬ 
resentative than the marquis, Plassans would long ago 
have had a branch line of railway connecting it with 
Nice; and it was complained, too, that if any one from 
the district went to see the marquis in Paris, he had to 
call three or four times before he could obtain the 
slightest service. Though the candidature of the retir¬ 
ing deputy was much damaged by accusations of this 
kind, no other candidate had openly entered the lists. 
There was some talk of Monsieur de Bourdeu coming for¬ 
ward, though it was considered that it would be extreme¬ 
ly difficult to obtain a majority in favor of this ex-prefect 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


296 

of Louis-Philippe, who had no strong connection with 
the place. The prevailing feeling was one of general 
perplexity and confusion, mingled with weariness and a 
desire to get the election hurried over as quickly as pos¬ 
sible. 

In the excitement and restlessness which this doubtful 
state of opinion was causing in the town, the Republican 
party were anxious to run a candidate of their own. 
Their choice fell upon a master-hatter, one Maurin, a 
plain simple man, who was much beloved by the work¬ 
ing-men. In the caf£s, in the evenings, Trouche expressed 
an opinion that Maurin was too colorless and not suffi¬ 
ciently advanced in his views, and he proposed in his 
stead a wheelwright of Les Tulettes, whose name had 
appeared in the list of the December proscripts, who, 
however, had the good sense to decline the nomination. 
It should be said that Trouche now gave himself out as 
an extreme Republican. He would have come forward 
himself, he said, if his wife’s brother had not been a 
parson, but as he was, to his great regret, he declared, 
forced to eat the bread of the hypocrites, he felt bound 
to remain in the background. Trouche’s greatest success 
was obtained by accusing the Sub-Prefecture party and 
the adherents of Monsieur Rastoil of having caused the 
disappearance of poor Mouret, with the view of depriving 
the democratic party of one of their worthiest chiefs. 
The gossips of the old quarter of the town spoke quite 
tenderly and feelingly about “the madman who beat his 
wife,” now that he was shut up in confinement, and told 
each other that the Abb 6 Faujas had wanted to get an 
inconvenient husband out of his way. Trouche repeated 
his charge every evening, bringing down his fists upon 
the tables of the cafds with such an air of conviction 
that he succeeded in persuading his listeners of the truth 
of a story in which Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies played 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


297 


the most extraordinary part imaginable. There was a 
complete reaction in Mouret’s favor. He was considered 
a political victim, a man whose influence had been feared 
so much that he had been put out of the way in a cell 
at Les Tulettes. ” 

“Just leave it all to me,” Trouche said with a confiden¬ 
tial air. “I will expose all these precious pious folks, 
and I will tell some fine stories about their Home of the 
Virgin. It’s a nice place is the Home—a place where 
these ladies make their assignations!” 

The Abbd Faujas almost seemed to have the power of 
multiplying himself. For some time past he was to be 
seen everywhere about the streets. He bestowed much 
attention upon his appearance, and was careful always 
to have a pleasant smile upon his face; though now and 
then his eyelids drooped for an instant and hid the 
stern fire of his glance. Old Madame Rougon, whom 
he continued to see in secret, was his good genius. She 
lectured him soundly, and kept his tall form bent before 
her on a low chair while she told him that he must strive 
to please, and that he would ruin everything if he let 
the iron hand appear from under the velvet glove. 

“It is I who wear the cassock,” she said sometimes, 
with a smile; “you carry yourself just like a gendarme, 
my dear vicar.” 

The priest showed himself especially assiduous in his 
attendance at the Young Men’s Club. He listened with 
an indulgent air to the young men talking politics, and 
told them with a shake of his head, that honesty was 
all that was necessary. His popularity was still increas¬ 
ing. One evening he consented to play at billiards, and 
he showed himself extremely skillful at the game, and, 
when they were sitting in a quiet little party, he would 
even accept a cigarette. The club took his advice in 
every question that arose. His reputation for tolerance 


298 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

was completely established by the kind, good-natured 
way in which he advocated the admission of Guillaume 
Porquier, who had renewed his application. 

“I have seen the young man,” he said; ‘‘he came to 
me to make a general confession, and I ended by giving 
him absolution There is forgiveness for every sin. 
We must not treat him as a leper, just because he has 
pulled down a few sign-boards in Plassans, and has run 
into debt at Paris.” 

The Abb6 Faujas did, indeed, seem to have an affection 
for the doctor’s son. He said that this poor young man 
wanted guiding by a very gentle hand. In a short time 
Guillaume became the moving-spirit of the club. He 
invented amusements, showed them how to make punch 
with kirsch-wasser, and led the young fellows fresh from 
the college into all sorts of dissipation. His pleasant 
vices gave him an enormous influence. While the organ 
was pealing over the top of the billiard-room, he drank 
away, and gathered round him the sons of the most repu¬ 
table people in Plassans, and made them almost choke 
with laughter at his broad stories. The members of the 
club now got into the way of indulging in doubtful topics 
of conversation in the corner of the rooms. The Abb6 
Faujas appeared quite unconscious of it. 

Lucien Delangre remained the serious man of the club. 
He showed great deference to the Abb6 Faujas, and he 
won the'group of studious young men over to the priest’s 
side. He frequently walked with him to the club, talk¬ 
ing to him with much animation, but subsiding into 
silence as soon as they entered the general room. 

On leaving the caf6 which had been established be¬ 
neath the Church of the Minimes, the Abb6 used to go 
regularly to the Home of the Virgin. He arrived in the 
middle of the play-time, and made his appearance with a 
smiling face upon the steps of the play-ground. Then 


r 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 299 

all the young girls surrounded him, and disputed with 
each other for the possession of his pockets, in which 
were always to be found some sacred pictures or chap¬ 
lets or medals that had been blessed. These big girls 
quite worshiped him as he tapped them gently on their 
cheeks and told them to be good, at which their bold 
faces broke out into sly smiles. The sisters often com¬ 
plained to him that the children confided to their care 
were quite unmanageable, and that they fought and tore 
each other’s hair, and did even worse things than this. 
The Abbd, considering these offenses as mere peccadil¬ 
loes, reproved the more turbulent girls in the chapel, 
from which they came out in a more submissive frame 
of mind. Occasionally he made some graver piece of 
misconduct a pretext for sending for the parents, whom 
he sent away again quite touched by his kindness and 
good-nature. The young scape-graces of the Home of 
the Virgin, in this way, gained him the hearts of the 
poor families of Plassans. When they went home in the 
evening, they told the most wonderful things about his 
reverence the vicar. 

Trouche himself had tried to win over “the little dears," 
as he called the young girls; but the priest mistrusting 
his glistening eyes, had strictly forbidden him to set 
foot in the play-ground; and so he now confined himself 
to throwing sugar plums to “the little dears," when the 
sisters’ backs were turned, just as though he were throw¬ 
ing crumbs to so many sparrows. 

The Abbd’s day’s work did not end at the Home of the 
Virgin. From thence he went to pay a series of short 
visits to the fashionable ladies of Plassans. Madame 
Rastoil and Madame Delangre welcomed him with ex¬ 
pressions of delight, and repeated his slightest words, 
and provided themselves with topics for a whole week’s 
conversation from his visit. But his great friend was Ma- 


300 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS ANS 


dame de Condamin. She maintained an air of easy famil¬ 
iarity toward him, the superiority of a beautiful woman 
who is conscious that she is all-powerful. She spoke oc¬ 
casional sentences in low tones, and accompanied them 
with meaning smiles and glances, which seemed to tell 
of some secret understanding between them. When the 
priest came to see her, she dismissed her husband with 
a look. “The government was going to hold a cabinet 
council,” the conservator of rivers and forests said 
playfully, as he philosophically went off to mount his 
horse. It was Madame Rougon who had brought Ma¬ 
dame de Condamin to the priest’s notice. 

“She has not yet absolutely established her position 
here," Madame Rougon explained to the Abb6 Faujas. 
“There is a great deal of cleverness under those pretty 
coquettish airs of hers. She will be of great use to you 
if you should find it necessary to give away places or 
crosses. She has retained an influential friend in Paris, 
who sends her as many red ribbons as she asks for. ” 

As Madame Rougon kept herself aloof from reasons 
of deep diplomacy, the fair Octavie had thus become 
the Abb 6 Faujas’ most active ally. She won over to his 
side her friends and her friends’ friends. She set off into 
the country every morning and exerted an astonishing 
amount of influence merely by the pleasant little waves 
of her delicately gloved fingers. She had especial suc¬ 
cess with the towns-women, and she increased tenfold 
that feminine influence of which the priest had felt the 
absolute necessity as soon as ever he had begun to go 
about in the narrow world of Plassans. She succeeded, 
too, in closing the mouths of the Paloques, who were 
growing very rabid about the state of affairs at the Mou- 
rets’, by throwing a honeyed cake to the two monsters. 

“Ah! do you still bear us a grudge, my dear lady?” 
she said one day, as she met the judge’s wife. “It is 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


301 


very wrong of you. Your friends have not forgotten you; 
they are thinking about you and are preparing a surprise 
for you.” 

“A fine surprise, I'll be bound!” cried Madame Pa- 
loque bitterly. ‘‘No, we are not going to allow ourselves 
to be laughed at again, and I have firmly made up my 
mind to keep myself to my own affairs.” 

Madame de Condamin smiled. 

“What would you say,” she asked, “if Monsieur Pa- 
loque were to be decorated?” 

The judge’s wife stared in silence. A rush of blood to 
her face turned it quite blue, and made her terrible to 
behold. 

“You are joking,” she stammered. “This is only an¬ 
other sally against us—if it isn’t true, I’ll never forgive 
you.” 

The fair Octavie swore that she had spoken nothing 
but the truth. The distinction would certainly be con¬ 
ferred upon him, but it would no be officially notified in 
the “Moniteur” until after the elections, as the govern¬ 
ment did not want to appear to be buying the support of 
the magistracy. She also hinted that the Abbd Faujas 
was not unconcerned in the bestowal of this long-desired 
reward, and said that he had talked about it to the sub¬ 
prefect. 

“My husband was right, then,” exclaimed Madame 
Paloque, in grqat surprise. “For a long time past he 
has been worrying me dreadfully to go and apologize to 
the Abbd. But I am very obstinate, and I would have 
let myself be killed sooner. But since the Abbd makes 
the first move—well, we ask for nothing more than to 
live at peace with everyone.” 

The next day the Paloques were very humble, Madame 
Paloque accused the Abbd Fenil of the blackest conduct, 
and with consummate impudence she related how she 


302 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


had gone to see him one day, and how he had spoken 
in her presence of turning “the whole of the Abb 6 Fau- 
jas’ clique,” neck-and-crop out of Plassans. 

“If you like, she said to the priest, taking him aside, 
“I will give you a note written at the vicar-general’s 
dictation. It concerns you. He tried, I believe, to get 
several discreditable stories inserted in the Plassans 
Gazette. ” 

“How did this note come into your hands?” asked the 
Abbd. 

“Well, it’s sufficient that it is there," she replied, with¬ 
out any sign of embarrassment. 

Then, with a smile, she continued: 

“I found it. I recollect, by the way, that there are 
two or three words written over an erasure in the vicar- 
general’s own hand. I trust to your honor in all this, 
may I not? We are upright, honest people, and we 
don’t want to compromise ourselves.” 

She pretended to be affected by scruples for three 
days before bringing him the note; and Madame de Con- 
damin was obliged to assure her privately that an appli¬ 
cation to have Honsieur Rastoil pensioned off would 
shortly be made, so that her husband could succeed to 
the vacant presidency. Then she gave up the paper. 
The Abb<§ Faujas did not wish to keep it himself and 
he took it to Madame Rougon, and he charged her to 
make use of it, keeping herself, however, strictly in the 
background, if the vicar-general showed the slightest 
sign of interfering in the elections. 

Madame de Condamin also dropped a hint to Monsieur 
Maffre that the Emperor was thinking about decorating 
him, and she made a formal promise to Doctor Porquier 
to find a suitable place for his good-for-nothing son. 
She showed the most obliging kindliness in the friendly 
afternoon meetings in the gardens. It was really under 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


BOB 


the Mourets’ arbor that the election was decided. 

“Well, my dear sub-prefect,” said the Abb6 Faujas 
one day with a smile, as the two sets of guests were 
mingling together, “the great battle is drawing near.” 
They had now arrived at discussing the political struggle 
in a quiet and friendly way. In the gardens at the 
back of the houses they grasped each other’s hands, while 
in front of them they still continued to keep up the 
appearance of hostility. Madame de Condamin cast a 
quick glance at Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies, who 
bent forward with his habitual elegance and said all in 
a breath: 

“I shall remain in my tent, your reverence. I have 
been fortunate enough to make his excellency understand 
that it is the duty of the government, in the immediate 
interest of Plassans, to hold itself aloof. There will 
not be any official candidate.” 

Monsieur de Bourdeu turned pale. His eyelids quivered 
and his hands trembled with joy. 

“There won’t be any official candidate?” cried Mon¬ 
sieur Rastoil, greatly moved by this unexpected news, 
and breaking out of the reserve which he generally main¬ 
tained. 

“No,” replied Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies, “the 
town contains a sufficiently great number of honorable 
men and is developed enough to make its own choice of 
a representative.” 

He bowed slightly toward Monsieur de Bourdeu, who 
rose from his seat, and stammered out: 

‘Undoubtedly, undoubtedly.” 

“Bourdeu has a chance now,” said Monsieur Rastoil, 
taking the Abbd Faujas aside. “It is very annoying. 
I can’t tell him so, but we shall not vote for him; he 
has compromised himself too much as an Orleanist.” 

“If Monsieur de Bourdeu persists in his candidature,” 


304 


THE CONQUEST OF PL/tSSANS 


rejoined the Abbe Faujas, “the Republicans will poll an 
imposing minority, which will have a very bad effect.” 

The Abb6 drew the President aside to the end of the 
arbor, where he continued the conversation in subdued 
tones. As they slowly strolled back again, Monsieur 
Rastoil was saying: 

“You are quite right. He would be a very suitable 
candidate. He belongs to no party, and we could all 
unite to support him. I am no fonder of the Empire 
than you are, but it would be childish going on sending 
deputies to the Chamber with no other purpose than to 
obstruct and rail at the government. Plassans is suffer¬ 
ing from such tactics. What we want is a man with a 
good head for business—a local man who can look after 
the interests of the place." 

“Your success is certain, my dear sir,” the conservator 
of rivers and forests was saying to Monsieur de Bour- 
deu. “But be careful what you do when you get to Paris. 
I hear from a very trustworthy source that the govern¬ 
ment has resolved upon taking strong measures if the 
opposition shows itself too provoking.” 

The ex-prefect looked at him very uneasily, wondering 
to himself if he was making fun of him. Monsieur 
P£queur des Saulaies merely smiled, as he stroked his 
mustaches. Then the conversation became general 
again, and Monsieur de Bourdeu thought he could de¬ 
tect that everyone was congratulating him upon his ap¬ 
proaching triumph with a discretion that was full of tact. 
He enjoyed the sweets of an hour’s delightful pop¬ 
ularity. 

“It is surprising how much more quickly the grapes 
ripen in the sun,” remarked the Abbd Bourrette, who 
had never moved from his chair, with his eyes raised up 
to the arbor. 

“In the north exposure," Doctor Porquier explained, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 305 

“the grapes can often only be got to ripen by freeing 
them from the surrounding leaves.” 

The news that the government had determined not to 
run a candidate of its own quickly spread through the 
town, where it gave rise to great excitement. This ab¬ 
stention had the natural effect of disquieting the different 
political sections, who had each been counting upon 
the diversion of a certain number of votes in favor of 
the official candidate enabling their own man to be re¬ 
turned. The Marquis de Lagrifoul, Monsieur de Bourdeu 
and the hatter Maurin appeared to divide the support 
of the voters pretty equally amongst them. There would 
certainly be a second ballot, and heaven only could tell 
which name would come at the top. There was certain¬ 
ly some talk of a fourth candidate, whose name nobody 
quite knew, some moderate, equable man who would 
possibly bring the different parties into concord and har¬ 
mony. The Plassans electors, who had grown a little 
alarmed since they had felt the bridle about their necks, 
would have been only too glad to come to an understand¬ 
ing amongst themselves, and choose one of their fellow 
citizens who would be acceptable to all parties. 

“The government is wrong to treat us like refractory 
children,” the politicians of the Commercial Club said, 
in tones of annoyance. “Anybody would suppose that 
the town was a hot-bed of revolutionism. If the ad¬ 
ministration had had the tact to bring out the right 
sort of candidate, we should all have voted for him. The 
sub-prefect has talked about a lesson. Well, we shall not 
receive the lesson. We shall be able to find a candidate 
for ourselves, and we will show that Plassans is a town 
of sound sense—of true liberty.” 

They began to look about for their candidate. But 
the names which were proposed by friends or interest¬ 
ed parties only served to increase the confusion. In a 
20 


306 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS AN5 


week’s time there were twenty candidates before Plas- 
sans. Madame RougQn, who had become very uneasy, 
and was quite able to understand her position, went to 
see the Abbd Faujas, full of angry indignation against 
the sub-prefect. “That P^queur is an ass,” she cried, “a 
fop, a dummy, of no use except as a pretty ornament to 
the official drawing-room. He has already allowed the 
government to be defeated, and now he is going to 
compromise it by an attitude of ridiculous indifference." 

“Make yourself easy,” said the priest, with a smile; 
“this time Monsieur P£queui des Saulaies is confining 
himself to obeying orders. Victory is certain.” 

“But you’ve got no candidate!” cried Madame Rou- 
gon. “Where is your candidate?” 

Then the priest unfolded his plans to her. She ex¬ 
pressed her approval of them, for they commended 
themselves to her intelligence; but she received the 
name which he confided to her with the greatest sur¬ 
prise. 

“What” she exclaimed, “you have chosen that man! 
No one has ever thought of him,I can assure you." 

“I trust that they haven’t,” replied the priest, smil¬ 
ing again. “We want a candidate of whom no one has 
thought, so that all parties may accept him without 
fancying that they are compromising themselves." 

Then with the perfect frankness of a shrewd man who 
has made up his mind to explain his designs, he con¬ 
tinued: 

“I have very much to thank you for. You have pre¬ 
vented my making many mistakes. I was looking straight 
toward the goal, and I did not see the strings that were 
stretched across the path, and which might, perhaps, 
have tripped me down and brought me to grief. Ever 
since the day of my arrival in Plassans, I have been look¬ 
ing about for a man, and he is the only one I have 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


307 


found. He is flexible, extremely capable and energetic. 

I know that you are not a very great friend of his, and 
that is the reason that I have not confided my plan to 
you sooner. But you will see that you are mistaken, 
and that he will rapidly make his way as soon as he gets 
his foot into the stirrup, and he will die in a senator’s 
robe. What has finally determined me in his favor is 
what I have heard about his means. It is said that he 
has taken his wife back again three separate times, 
after she had been detected in actual unfaithfulness, 
and after he had made his good-natured father-in-law 
pay him a hundred thousand francs on each occasion. 
If he has really coined money in this way, he will be 
very useful in Paris in certain matters.” 

‘‘Then it is a present you are making to the govern¬ 
ment?” said Felicity, with a laugh. 

She allowed herself to be quite convinced. The next 
day the name of Delangre was in everybody’s mouth. 
His friends said that it was only after the strongest 
pressure had been brought to bear upon him that he 
had accepted the nomination. He had refused it for a 
long time, considering himself unworthy of the position, 
and insisting that he was not a politician and that Mon¬ 
sieur de Lagrifoul and Monsieur de Bourdeu had had, 
on the other hand, a long experience of public affairs. 
Then, when it had been impressed upon him that what 
Plassans urgently needed was a representative who was 
unconnected with the political parties, he had allowed 
himself to be prevailed upon, but he explicitly declared 
the principles upon which he should act if he were re¬ 
turned. It must be thoroughly understood, he said, 
that he would not go to the Chamber either to oppose 
or support the government under all circumstances; that 
he should look upon himself only as the representative 
of the interests of the town, and that he would always 


308 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

vote for liberty with order, and order with liberty, and 
that he should still remain mayor of Plassans, so that 
he might have a good opportunity of manifesting the 
conciliatory and purely administrative part with which 
he had charged himself. These expressions of his views 
struck people as being singularly sensible. The know¬ 
ing politicians of the Commercial Club vied with each 
other that same evening in lauding him. 

The whole thing was like a train of gunpowder. The 
mine was laid, and a spark had been sufficient to set it 
off. On every side simultaneously, in the three quarters 
of the town, in every house, almost in every family, Mon¬ 
sieur Delangre’s name was sounded in the midst of 
unanimous eulogies. He had become the expected Mes¬ 
siah, the savior, who was unknown the previous day, but 
who had been revealed in the morning, and worshiped 
ere night. 

On the day of the election the majority was overwhel¬ 
ming. All the town seemed to have conspired together. 
The Marquis de Lagrifoul, and subsequently Monsieur de 
Bourdeu, bursting with angry indignation and crying out 
that they had been betrayed, had retired from the con¬ 
test, and Monsieur Delangre then remained with no 
other opponent than the hatter Maurin. The latter re¬ 
ceived the votes of some fifteen hundred intractable Re¬ 
publicans of the outskirts of the town. The mayor had 
the support of the * country districts, the Bonapartist 
section, the townsmen of the new quarter who were 
amenable to clerical influence, the small, timid shop¬ 
keepers of the old town, and even of certain simple- 
minded Royalists in the district of Saint-Marc, the ar¬ 
istocratic denizens of which abstained from voting. 
Monsieur Delangre thus succeeded in obtaining thirty- 
three thousand votes. The business was managed so 
promptly, and the victory was won so merrily, that Plas- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


309 


sans felt quite amazed, on the evening of the election, 
to find itself so unanimous. The politicians of the Com¬ 
mercial Club looked at one another in perplexity, like 
men dazed with their victory. 

In the evening Monsieur Rastoil’s friends joined those 
of Monsieur P£queur des Saulaies, to quietly congrat¬ 
ulate each other, in a little drawing-room at the Sub- 
Prefecture, overlooking the gardens. Tea was served to 
them. The great victory of the day ended by causing 
the two parties to coalesce into one. All the regular 
guests were present. 

“I have never systematically opposed any government,” 
said Monsieur Rastoil, after a time, as he took the.little 
cakes which Monsieur Pdqueur des Saulaies handed 
to him. “The judicial bench ought to take no part in 
political struggles. I willingly admit that the Empire 
has already accomplished great things, and that it has 
a still nobler future before it, if it continues to advance 
in the paths of justice and liberty.” 

The sub-prefect .bowed, as though this eulogy was ad¬ 
dressed to himself personally. The previous evening, 
Monsieur Rastoil had read in the “Moniteur” the decree 
appointing his son assistant public prosecutor at Fave- 
rolles. 

Monsieur Delangre did not arrive till late. He was re¬ 
ceived with a perfect ovation. Madame de Condamin had 
just informed Doctor Porquier that his son Guillaume 
had been nominated chief clerk at the postoffice. She 
was circulating good news through the room, and said 
that the Abb£ Bourrette would be his lordship’s vicar- 
general the following year; and she asserted that the 
Abbd Surin would be a bishop before he was forty, and 
she announced that Monsieur Maffre was to have a cross. 

"Poor Bourdeu! ” exclaimed Monsieur Rastoil, with a 
last sigh of regret. 


310 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“Oh, there’s no occasion to pity him!” cried Madame 
de Condamin gayly. “I will undertake to console him. 
He is not cut out of the Chamber. What he wants is a 
prefecture. Tell him that he shall have one before very 
long.” 

The merriment increased. The fair Octavie’s high 
spirits and the desire which she showed to please every¬ 
body, delighted the company. It was really she who was 
doing the honors of the Sub-Prefecture. She was the 
queen of the place. And, while she seemed to be speak¬ 
ing quite playfully, she gave Monsieur Delangre the most 
practical advice about the part he was to play in the 
Corps L£gislatif. She took him aside and offered to 
introduce him to several influential people, an offer which 
he gratefully acepted. 

“Well, what about the Abb6 Fenil?” she asked suddenly 
of the Abb6 Faujas, as she took him aside into one of 
the window recesses. “He has not made any movement, 
has he?” 

“The Abb£ Fenil is a man of sense, ” the priest replied 
with a slight smile. “It has been hinted to him that 
he would do well not to interfere in political matters 
for the future." 

In the midst of all the triumphant joy, the Abb6 Fau¬ 
jas remained grave and serious. He had won after a 
hard.fight, but Madame de Condamin’s chatter wearied 
him; and the satisfaction of these people, with their poor 
vulgar ambitions, filled him with disdain. He was mas¬ 
ter now, and he was no longer under the necessity of 
veiling and suppressing his real feelings. He could reach 
out his hand and seize the town, and make it tremble 
in his grasp. His tall, black figure seemed to fill the 
room. The men awaited some expression of satisfaction 
from him; and the women besought him with their eyes, 
like submissive slaves. But he bluntly broke through 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


311 


the circle and went away the first, saying only a brief 
word or two as he took his leave. 

When he returned to the Mourets’ house, going by way 
of the Chevillottes alley and the garden, he found Mar- 
the alone in the dining-room, sitting listlessly on a chair 
against the wnll, looking very pale and gazing with a 
blank expression at the lamp, the wick of which was be¬ 
ginning to char. 


XX 

The Abbd Faujas laid his hand on Marthe's shoulder. 
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why haven't 
you gone to bed? I told you that you were not to wait 
for me.” 

She started up and stammered: 

“I thought you would be back much earlier than this. 

I fell asleep. I dare say Rose will have got some tea 
ready. ” 

The priest called for the cook and rated her for not 
having made her mistress go to bed. He spoke in au¬ 
thoritative tones that admitted of no reply. 

“Bring the tea for his reverence, Rose," said Marthe. 

“No, I don’t want any tea,” the priest said with a 
show of vexation. “Go to bed immediately. It is absurd. 
I can scarcely control myself. Show me a light, Rose.” 

Almost immediately afterward Trouche went down¬ 
stairs with a couple of men whom he had picked up in 
some low caf6, and he cried out on the staircase that he 
knew how to behave himself, and that he was going to 
see them home. 

When the cook went back into the dining-room, she 
found her mistress sitting down and fallen again into 



312 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


a sort of melancholy stupor, with her eyes fixed upon 
the lamp. She shook her and made her go upstairs to 
bed. Marthe had become very timid. During the night 
she said she saw great patches of light on the walls of 
her room, and heard violent blows at the head of her 
bed. Rose now slept near her, in a little dressing-room 
close at hand, from which she hastened to calm her at 
the slightest sound of uneasiness. On this night she had 
not finished undressing herself before she heard Marthe 
groaning, and on rushing into her room, she found her 
lying in the midst of the disordered bedclothes, her eyes 
staring widely in mute horror, and her clinched fists 
pressed closely against her mouth to keep herself from 
crying out. Rose was obliged to talk to her and soothe 
her as though she were a mere child, and was compelled 
to look behind the curtains and under the furniture, and 
assure her that she was mistaken and that there was 
really no one there. These attacks of terror ended in 
cataleptic seizures which laid her with her head lying 
on her pillow, and her eyelids rigidly opened as though 
she were dead. 

“It is the thought of the master that is tormenting 
her,” Rose muttered to herself, as she at last got into 
bed. 

The next day was one of the days when Doctor Por- 
quier was expected. He came regularly twice a week to 
see Madame Mouret. He patted her hands and said to 
her with his amiable optimism: 

“Oh! there will be nothing serious come of that, my 
dear lady. You still cough a little, don’t you? Ah! it’s 
a mere cold which has been neglected, but which we 
will cure with syrups." 

Marthe then complained to him of intolerable pains 
in her back and chest, keeping her eyes fixed keenly up- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


313 


on him, and trying to discover from his face and man¬ 
ner what he would not say in words. 

“I am afraid of going mad! ” she cried, breaking into 
a sob. 

The doctor smilingly reassured her. The sight of 
him always caused her a keen anxiety, and she felt a 
sort of alarm of this gentle and agreeable man. She 
often told Rose not to let him come in, saying that she 
was not ill, and had no need to have a doctor constantly 
coming to see her. Rose shrugged her shoulders, and 
ushered the doctor into the room just the same as before. 
He had almost ceased speaking to Marthe about her 
ailments, and he seemed now to be merely making 
friendly calls upon her. 

As he was going away, he met the Abb6 Faujas, who was 
returning from Saint-Saturnin’s. The pr.iest questioned 
him as to Madame Mouret’s condition. 

"Science is sometimes quite powerless," said the doc¬ 
tor gravely, "but the goodness of Providence is inex¬ 
haustible. The poor lady has been sorely shaken, but 
I don’t altogether give her up. Her chest is only -slight¬ 
ly attacked as yet, and the climate here is favorable." 

The priest had listened to him with his stern, silent 
expression. 

"You are mistaken,” he said slowly, "Plassans does 
not agree with Madame Mouret. Why not send her to 
pass the winter at Nice?" 

"At Nice! " repeated the doctor, uneasily. 

He looked at the priest for a moment, and then he 
continued in his complacent tones: 

"Nice certainly would be very suitable for her; in her 
present condition of nervous excitement, a change of 
surroundings would probably have very beneficial results. 
I must advise her to make this journey. It is an excellent 
idea of yours, your reverence.” 


■314 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 


He bowed, and parted from the Abb£, and made his 
way to Madame de Condamin’s, whose slightest headaches 
caused him endless trouble and anxiety. At dinner the 
next day, Marthe spoke of the doctor in almost violent 
terms. She swore that she would never allow him to 
visit her again. 

“It is he who is making me ill, ” she exclaimed. “This 
very afternoon he has been advising me to go off on a 
journey.” 

‘And* I entirely agree with him in that,” declared the 
Abb£ Faujas folding his napkin. 

She fixed her eyes keenly upon him, and turned very 
pale as she murmured in a low voice: 

“What! Do you then, too, want to send me away 
from Plassans? Oh! I should die in a strange land, far 
away from all my old associations, and far away from 
those I love.” 

The priest had risen from his seat, and was just about 
to leave the dining-room. He stepped toward her, and 
said with a smile: 

“Your friends have no other thought than for what 
is good for your health. Why are you so rebellious?” 

'Oh! I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!” she 
cried, stepping back from him. 

There was a short contest between them. The blood 
rushed to the Abba’s cheeks, and he had crossed his arms, 
as though to withstand a temptation to strike Marthe. 
She was leaning with her back against the wall, and was 
holding herself at her full height in despair at her weak¬ 
ness. Then quite vanquished, she stretched out her hands 
and stammered: 

“I beseech you to allow me to remain here. I will do 
whatever you tell me." 

Then, as she burst into sobs, the Abb6 shrugged his 
shoulders and left the room, like a husband fearing an out- 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


315 


break of tears. Madame Faujas, who was tranquilly finish¬ 
ing her dinner, had witnessed this scene and continued 
eating. She let Marthe cry on undisturbed. 

"You are extremely unreasonable, my dear child,” she 
said after a time, helping herself to some more sweet¬ 
meats. "You will end by making Ovide quite detest 
you. You don’t know how to treat him. Why do you 
refuse to go away from home, if it is necessary for your 
health? We would look after the house for you, and 
you would find everything all right and in its place when 
you came back.” 

Marthe was still sobbing, and did not seem to hear 
what Madame Faujas was saying. 

"Ovide has so much to think about,” the old lady con¬ 
tinued. Do you know that he often works till four 
o’clock in the morning? When you cough all through 
the night, it disturbs him very much, and distracts his 
thoughts. He can’t work any longer, and he suffers more 
than you do. "Do this for Ovide’s sake, my dear child; 
go away, and come back to u? in good health.” 

Then Marthe raised her face, all red with weeping, 
and throwing all the anguish she was suffering into her 
cry, she wailed out: 

"Oh! Heaven lies!” 

During the next few days no further pressure was 
brought to bear upon Madame Mouret to make the jour¬ 
ney to Nice. She grew terribly excited at the least ref¬ 
erence to it. She refused to leave Plassans with such 
a show of desperate determination that the priest him¬ 
self recognized the danger of insisting upon the scheme. 
In the midst of his triumph she was beginning to cause 
him terrible anxiety and embarrassment. Trouche said, 
with his snigger, that it was she who ought to have 
been sent the first to Les Tulettes. Ever since Mou¬ 
ret had been taken off, she had secluded herself in the 


316 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


practice of the most rigid devotions, and she constantly 
refrained from mentioning her husband’s name, praying 
that she might be rendered altogether torpid and oblivi¬ 
ous But she still remained restless and unquiet and re¬ 
turned from Saint Saturnin’s only with a keener longing 
for forgetfulness than she had when she went 
there. 

"Our landlady is going it finely," Olympe said to her 
husband when he came home in the evening. "I went 
with her to church to-day, and I had to pick her up from 
the ground. You would laugh if I told you all the 
things that she vomited out against Ovide. She is 
quite furious with him, and says that he has no heart, 
and that he has deceived her in promising her a heap of 
consolations. And you should hear her rail, too, against 
God Almighty Himself! Ah! it’s only your pious people 
who talk so badly of religion! Any one would think, 
to hear her, that God had cheated her out of a large 
sum of money. Do you know, I really believe that her 
husband comes and haunts her at nights.” 

Trouche was much amused at all this gossip. 

"Well, she has herself to blame for that,” he said. "If 
that old joker Mouret has been put away, it was her own 
doing. If I were Faujas, I should know how to arrange 
matters, and I would make her as gentle and content as a 
sheep. But Faujas is an ass, and you will see that he will 
make a mess of the business. Your brother, my dear, 
hasn’t shown himself sufficiently pleasant to us for me 
to care to help him out of the bother.” 

"Ovide certainly looks down upon us too much," Olympe 
said. 

Then Trouche continued in lower tones: 

"I say, you know if our landlady were to throw herself 
down some well with your noodle of a brother, we should 
be the masters, and the house would be ours. We should 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS4NS 


317 


be able to feather our nest nicely. It would be a splen¬ 
did ending, that!” 

Since Mouret’s departure, the Trouches also had invad¬ 
ed the ground-floor. Olympe had begun by complaining 
that the chimneys upstairs smoked, and she had ended 
by persuading Marthe that the drawing-room, which 
had been hitherto unoccupied, was the healthiest room 
in the house. Rose was ordered to light a big fire 
there, and the two women spent their days there in end¬ 
less talk, before the huge blazing logs. It was one of 
Olympe’s dreams to be able to live always like this, 
handsomely dressed and lolling on a couch in the midst 
of all the luxury of an elegantly furnished room. 

“That poor Madame Mouret,” she used to say, “has so 
much worry that she has asked me to help her, and so I 
devote a little of my time to assisting her. It is really 
a kindness to do so.” 

She had, indeed, quite succeeded in winning the con¬ 
fidence of Marthe, who, from lassitude and weariness, 
handed over to her the petty details of the household 
management. It was Olympe who kept the keys of the 
cellar and the cupboards, and she paid the tradesmen’s 
bills as well. She had been deliberating for a long 
time as to how she should manage to make herself 
equally free of the dining-room. Trouche, however, 
dissuaded her from attempting to carry out this design. 
They would no longer, he said, be able to eat and drink 
just as they liked, and they would not dare even to 
drink their wine unwatered, or to ask a friend to come 
and have coffee. Then Olympe said that at any rate she 
would bring upstairs their share of the dessert. She 
crammed her pockets with sugar and she even carried 
off candle-ends. For this purpose, she had made great 
pockets of canvas, which she fastened under her skirt, 


318 THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 

and which it took her a good quarter ol an hour to empty 
every evening. 

“There, there’s something for a rainy day,” she said, 
as she bundled a stock of provisions into a box which 
she then pushed under the bed. “If we should happen 
to fall out with our landlady, we shall have something 
there to keep us going for a time. I must bring up 
some pots of preserves and some salt pork.,” 

“There is no need to make a secret of it,” said Trou- 
che “If I were you, I should make Rose bring them 
up, as you are the mistress.” 

Trouche had made himself master of the garden. For 
a long time past he had envied Mouret as he had watched 
him pruning his trees, and graveling his walks, and 
watering his lettuces; and he had indulged in a dream 
of one day having a plot of ground of his own, where 
he might dig and plant as he liked. So, now that Mou¬ 
ret was no longer there, he took possession of the gar¬ 
den, with his head full of all kinds of alterations and 
complete transformations. 

Marthe let him have his own way and gave her con¬ 
sent to all the plans that were submitted to her, and in 
the end they gave over even consulting her. It was on¬ 
ly Madame Faujas that the Trouches had to contend 
with, and she continued to dispute the house with them 
very obstinately. It was only after a battle royal with her 
mother that Olympe had been able to take possession 
of the drawing-room. Madame Faujas had all but 
won the day on that occasion. It was the priest’s do¬ 
ing that she was not victorious. 

“You love me very much, mother,” he said, “and I 
forgive you. Make your mind easy; I want something 
very different from the house. It is not mine, and I 
keep only what I gain. You will be very proud when 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


819 


you see my share. Trouche has been useful to me, and 
we must shut our eyes a little.” 

Madame Faujas was then obliged to beat a retreat; 
but she did so with very bad grace, and was forever 
growling as Olympe’s triumphant laughter pursued her. 
The absolute disinterestedness of her son made her, with 
her material and baser desires and careful economies, 
quite desperate. She would have liked to lock the house 
up in safe keeping so that Ovide might find it ready for 
his occupation and in perfect order when he wanted it. 
The Trouches, with their grasping fingers, caused her 
all the torment and despair of a miser who was being 
preyed upon by strangers. When the Abb6 forbade her 
to oppose the gradual invasion of the Trouches, she 
made up her mind that she would at any rate save all 
she could from the hands of the spoilers, and she began 
pilfering from the cupboards, just as Olympe did. She, 
too, fastened big pockets underneath her skirts, and she 
had a chest which sne filled with all the things that she 
collected together, provisions, linen, and various other 
miscellaneous articles. 

"What is that you are stowing away there, mother?” the 
Abbd asked one evening as he went into her room, at¬ 
tracted by the noise which she was making in moving 
the chest. 

She began to stammer out a reply, but the priest un¬ 
derstood it all at a glance, and flew-into a violent rage. 

"It is too shameful!” he said. “You have turned your¬ 
self into a thief, now! What would the consequences 
be if you were to be detected? I should be the talk of 
the whole town!” 

“It is all for your sake, Ovide,” she murmured. 

“A thief! My mother is a thief! Perhaps you think 
that I thieve too, that I have come here to plunder, and 
that my only ambition is to lay my hands upon what- 


320 


THE CONQUEST Of PLASSANS 


ever I can! Good heavens! what sort of an opinion have 
you formed of me? We shall have to separate, mother, 
if we do not understand each other better than this.” 

This speech quite crushed the old woman. She had 
remained on her knees in front of the chest, and she 
fell down in a crouching position upon the floor, very 
pale and almost choking and stretching out her hands 
beseechingly. When she was able to speak again, she 
wailed out: 

“It is for your benefit, my child, for yours only, I 
swear. I have told you before that they are taking 
everything; she crams everything into her pockets. 
There will be nothing left for you, not even a lump of 
sugar. But I won’t take anything more, since it makes 
you angry, and you will let me stay with you, won’t you? 
You will keep me with you, won’t you?” 

The Abb6 Faujas refused to make her any promises 
until she had restored everything she had taken to its 
place. For nearly a week he himself superintended the 
secret restoration of the contents of the chest. He 
watched his mother fill her pockets, and waited till she 
came back upstairs again to take a fresh load. For pru¬ 
dential reasons he allowed her to make only two jour¬ 
neys backward and forward every evening. The old 
woman felt as though her heart were breaking as she 
restored each article to its former place. But what 
afflicted her more than anything else was to see that as 
soon as she had restored each article to its rightful posi¬ 
tion, Olympe followed in her steps and took possession 
of it. The linen, the provisions, and the candle-ends, 
merely changed from one pocket to another. 

The Trouches were now reigning undisputedly. The 
Abba’s own rooms were the only ones they respected. 
It was only before him that they trembled. But the 
priest’s presence in the house did not prevent them 


The conquest of plassans . 


321 


from inviting their friends, and indulging in riotous 
living which was kept up till two o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing. Guillaume Porquier came with parties of mere 
youths. Olympe, notwithstanding her thirty-seven years, 
simpered and put on girlish airs, and more than one of 
the college lads squeezed very close up to her, which 
made her ripple with delighted laughter, as though she 
were being tickled. The house was becoming a perfect 
paradise to her. Trouche sniggered and joked her when 
they were long together. 

“Well,” she said, quite tranquilly, “you have your 
little amusements, haven’t you? We are both quite free 
to do as we like, you know.” 

Trouche had, as a matter of fact, all but brought to 
an abrupt conclusion, the fat life he was living. One of 
the sisters had caught him in the company of the daugh¬ 
ter of a tanner, a tall, fair, young girl, upon whom he 
had been casting lustful eyes for a long time. The girl 
said that she was not the only one, but that others, too, 
had received gifts of sweetmeats. The sister, who knew 
Trouche’s relationship to the vicar of Saint Saturnin’s, 
had had the forethought not to say anything about the 
matter, till she had seen the priest. He thanked her, 
and impressed upon her that the cause of religion would 
suffer most by such a scandal. The affair was hushed 
up, and the lady patronesses never had the least sus¬ 
picion of it. The Abbd Faujas, however, had a terrible 
scene with his brother-in-law, whom he assailed in Olym¬ 
pe’s presence, so that his wife might have a weapon 
against him, and be able to keep him in check. Ever 
since this revelation, whenever Trouche did anything to 
annoy her, Olympe exclaimed sarcastically. 

“Go and give the little girls some sugar-plums!” 

They had been troubled for a long time past with an¬ 
other source of alarm. Notwithstanding the life in clover 


2 / 


322 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


that they were enjoying, and the fact that they were pro¬ 
vided with everything out of Marthe’s cupboard, they 
had got terribly into debt in the neighborhood. Trouche 
squandered his salary away in the caf£s, and Olympe 
wasted the money which she dragged out of Marthe’s 
pockets by telling her some extraordinary story or other, 
in indulging herself in all sorts of whims and fancies. 
All the necessaries of life they made a point of getting 
upon credit. There was one account which made them 
especially uneasy, that of the pastry-cook in the Rue de 
la Banne, which amounted to more than a hundred francs, 
as the pastry-cook was a rough, blunt sort of a man, 
who threatened to lay the whole matter before the Abbd 
Faujas. The Trouches lived in a state of perpetual 
alarm, and were constantly in fear of some dreadful 
scene; but when the bill was actually presented to him, 
the Abb6 Faujas paid it without a word, and even for¬ 
got to address any reproaches to them on the subject. 
The priest seemed to be above all these miserable little 
matters, and he went on living a gloomy and rigid life 
in the house that was given up to pillage, without ap¬ 
pearing conscious of the devouring teeth which were 
gnawing the walls away, or the gradual ruin which was 
falling upon it. Everything was crumbling away around 
him, while he continued to advance straight toward the 
goal of his ambition. He still camped like a soldier in 
his great bare room, indulging himself in no comforts, 
and showing annoyance when any were attempted to be 
pressed upon him. Since he had become the master of 
Plassans, he had dropped back into complete careless¬ 
ness as to his appearance. His hat was rusty, and his 
socks were dirty; his cassock, which his mother mended 
every morning, looked just like the pitiful, worn-out and 
thread-bare rag which he had worn when he first came 
to Plassans. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


323 


“Pooh! it is very good yet,” he used to say, when any¬ 
one hazarded a timid remark about it. 

He displayed it in the streets, and walked about in it, 
carrying his head loftily, and altogether unheeding the 
curious glances which were cast at it. There was no 
bravado in the matter; he was simply following his nat¬ 
ural inclinations. It was his triumph to sit himself down 
just as he was with his tall, clumsy body and rough, 
blunt manner and splitting clothes, in the midst of con¬ 
quered Plassans. 

Madame de Condamin, distressed by the strong smell 
which breathed from his cassock, one day gently took 
him to task about his appearance. 

“Doyou know,” she said to him, laughingly, "that the 
ladies are beginning quite to detest you? They say that 
now you never give yourself the least trouble over your 
toilet. Once upon a time, when you took your handker¬ 
chief out of your pocket, it was just as though there 
were a choir-boy swinging a thurible behind you.” 

The priest looked greatly astonished. He was quite 
unaware of any change in himself. Then Madame de 
Condamin, drawing a little nearer to him, said in a 
friendly tone: 

“Will you let me speak quite frankly to you, my dear 
vicar? It is really a mistake on your part to be so neg¬ 
ligent of your appearance. You scarcely shave youself, 
and you never comb your hair; it is as rough and dis¬ 
ordered as though you had been fighting. I can assure 
you that all this has a very bad eflect. Madame Ras- 
toil and Madame Delangre told me yesterday that they 
could scarcely recognize you. You are really compro¬ 
mising your success.” 

The priest began to laugh with a laugh of defiance, as 
he shook his powerful unkempt head. 

“Now that the battle is won,” he merely replied, 


324 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


"they must put up with my hair being uncombed.” 

Plassans had, indeed, to put up with him with his 
hair uncombed. The flexible priest was now transformed 
into a stern, despotic master who bent all wills to his 
own. His face, which had again become cadaverous in 
its appearance, shone with eyes like an eagle’s, and he 
raised his big hands as though they were filled with 
threats and chastisements. The town was positively ter¬ 
rified on beholding the master they had imposed upon 
themselves swelling out thus inordinately with his 
shabby, unclean clothing and strong odor and unkempt 
hair. The suppressed alarm of the women tended to 
strengthen still further his power. He was stern and 
harsh to his penitents, but not one of them dared to 
leave him, and they came to him in fear and trembling, 
in which they found some touch of painful pleasure. 

"I was wrong, my dear,” Madame de Condamin con 
fessed to Marthe, “in wanting him to perfume himself. 
I am growing accustomed to him, and I even prefer him 
as he is. He is indeed a man!” 

The Abb6 Faujas was supreme at the bishop’s. Since 
the elections, he had left Monseigneur Rousselot only 
a show of authority. The bishop lived in his study in 
the midst of his beloved books, where the Abb6, who 
administered the diocese from an adjoining room, virtu¬ 
ally kept him a prisoner, allowing him to see only those 
persons whom he could fully trust. The clergy trem¬ 
bled before this absolute master. The old white-headed 
priests bent themselves before him with their ecclesias¬ 
tical humility and surrender of all will of their own. 
Often Monseigneur Rousselot when he was alone with 
the Abbd Surin, wept great, silent tears. He regretted 
the impetuous mastery of the Abb6 Fenil, who had, at 
any rate, intervals of affectionate softness, while now, 
under the Abb£ Faujas’ rule, he felt himself crushed 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


325 


down beneath a relentless and ceaseless pressure. Then 
he would smile again and resign himself, saying with 
a sort of pleasant self-satisfaction: 

“Come, my child, let us get to work. I ought not to* 
complain, for I am now leading the life which I have 
always dreamed of—a life of perfect solitude amongst 
my books.” 

Then he sighed and continued in lower tones: 

“I should be quite happy, if I were not afraid of los¬ 
ing you, my dear Surin. He will end by not tolerating 
your presence here any longer. I thought that he looked 
at you very suspiciously yesterday. Always agree with 
him, I beseech you, and take him aside and don’t spare 
me. Ah me! I have only you left now.” 

Two months after the elections, the Abb6 Vial, one of 
the bishop’s vicar generals, went to settle at Rome. 
The Abb£ Faujas stepped into his place quite as a mat¬ 
ter of course, although it had been promised long ago to 
the Abbd Bourrette. He did not even promote the lat¬ 
ter to the living of Saint-Saturnin’s which he vacated, 
but he preferred to it a young ambitious priest whom 
he had made a tool of his own. 

“His lordship would not hear of you," he said shortly 
to the Abbd Bourrette when he met him. 

When the old priest stammered out that he would go 
and see the bishop and ask for an explanation, the Abbd 
Faujas added more gently: 

“His lordship is too unwell to see you. Trust your 
self in my hands; I will plead your cause for you." 

From his first appearance in the Chamber, Monsieur 
Delangre had voted with the majority. Plassans was 
undisguisedly conquered for the Empire. The Abbd 
Faujas appeared almost actuated by a feeling of revenge 
in his rough treatment of the prudent towns-people, clos¬ 
ing again the little door that led into the Chevillottes 


326 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


alley and compelling Monsieur Rastoil and his friends 
to enter the Sub-Prefecture by the official door on the 
Place. When he appeared at their friendly gatherings, 
they showed themselves very humble in his presence; 
even when he was not present no one dared to make the 
slightest equivocal remark concerning him. 

“He is a man of the greatest merit,” declared Mon¬ 
sieur P^queur des Saulaies, who was counting on getting 
a prefecture. 

“A very remarkable man, indeed,” chimed Doctor Por- 
quier. 

All the company nodded their heads approvingly. 

Monsieur de Condamin, who was beginning to gow 
irritated by this eulogistic unanimity, occasionally 
amused himself by putting them all into a state of uneasy 
embarrassment. 

“Well, he hasn’t a pleasant temper, anyway,” he said. 

This remark had a chilling effect upon the company 
Each of them was afraid that his neighbor might be 
in the pay of the terrible Abbd. 

“The vicar-general has an excellent heart,” Monsieur 
Rastoil prudently remarked; “but, like all great minds, 
he appears at first sight to be a little stern.” 

“It is just so with me; I am very easy to get on with, 
but I have always had the reputation of being a hard, 
stern man,” exclaimed Monsieur de Bourdeu, who had 
again become reconciled with the party after a long pri¬ 
vate interview which he had had with the Abb6 Faujas. 

Wishing to put everyone at ease, the president said: 

“Have you heard that there is a probability of a bish¬ 
opric for the vicar-general?” 

Then they brightened up. Monsieur Maffre expressed 
the opinion that it would be of Plassans itself that the 
Abbd Faujas would become bishop, after the retirement 
of Monseigneur Rousselot, whose health was very feeble. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


327 


"Everyone would gain by it,” said the Abbd Bourrette 
guilelessly. “Illness has embittered his lordship, and I 
know that our excellent Faujas has made the greatest 
efforts to persuade him out of certain unjust prejudices 
which he entertains.” 

“He is very fond of you,” asserted Judge Paloque, 
who had just received his decoration; “my wife has 
heard him complain of the way in which you are neg¬ 
lected. " 

When the Abbd Surin was present, he, too, joined in 
the general chorus; but, although he had a miter in his 
pocket, to use the expression of the priests of the dio¬ 
cese, the success of the Abb6 Faujas made him uneasy. 
He looked at him in his pretty way, and felt wounded 
by his rude demeanor, as he called to mind his lord¬ 
ship’s prediction, and tried to discover the weak point 
which would bring the colossus toppling in the dust. 

The gentlemen of the party were all quite satisfied, 
however, except Monsieur de Bourdeu and Monsieur P6- 
queur des Saulaies, who were still waiting for the marks 
of the government’s favor; and these two were, conse¬ 
quently, the warmest partisans of the Abb£ Faujas. 
The others, to tell the truth, would have been glad to 
rebel, if they had dared. They were growing weary of 
the continual gratitude which was exacted from them 
by their master, and they ardently wished that some 
strong, bold hand would effect their deliverance. And 
so they glanced at each other curiously, drooping their 
eyes again immediately. 

It was only Marthe who remained an obstacle. The 
Abbd Faujas felt that she was escaping him more and 
more every day. He stiffened his will and called up all 
his forces of priest and man to bend her, without suc¬ 
ceeding in moderating within her the flame which he had 
fanned into life. She was striving to reach the logical 


328 


THE COh; QUEST OF PL ASSAYS 


end of her passionate longings. It was bitter pain and 
anguish to her to be, as it were, walled in by her body 
and prevented from craning herself up to that threshold 
of light which seemed to be ever receding out of her 
reach. She shivered and trembled now at Saint-Satur- 
nin’s in that cold gloom where she had once felt such 
thrills of glowing delight. The swelling peals of the 
organ rolled over her bent neck without stirring its soft 
down with tremors of voluptuous joy; the white clouds 
of incense no longer softly lulled her into sweet mystic 
dreams; the gleaming chapels and the sacred pyxes that 
flashed like stars, the chasubles with their sheen of gold 
and silver all now seemed pale and wan to her eyes 
that were dull and dim with tears. Like a damned soul 
yearning after Paradise, she threw up her arms in bit¬ 
ter desperation and she besought the love that denied 
itself to her, as she sobbed and wailed out: 

“My God, my God! why hast Thou forsaken me?” 

Bowed down with shame, and hurt, as it were, by the 
cold silence of the vaulted roof, Marthe left the church 
burning with the anger of a scorned woman. She had 
wild dreams of pouring out her blood as an atonement 
and she writhed madly at her impotence to do more than 
to pray, and at not being able to spring at a single 
bound into the arms of God. Then, when she returned 
home, she felt that her only hope was in the Abb£ Fau- 
jas. It was he alone that could make her God’s. He 
had discovered to her the initiatory joys, he must now 
tear down the whole veil. But the priest fell into a pas¬ 
sion with her and forgot himself so far as to treat her 
very rudely, refusing to hear her so long as she was not 
on her knees before him, humbled and unresisting as a 
corpse. She listened to him, standing upright, sustained 
by an impulse of revolt that thrilled her through her whole 
being, as she vented upon him the bitterness that came 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


320 


of her deceived yearnings and accused him of the base 
treachery which was torturing her. 

Old Madame Rougon often thought it was her duty to 
intervene between the Abb(§ and her daughter, as she had 
formerly done between the latter and Mouret. 

Well, she said to the priest with a smile, “can’t 
you manage to live in peace? Marthe is constantly 
complaining and you seem to be perpetually grieving 
her. I know very well that women are exacting, but you 
must confess ^hat you are a little wanting in considera¬ 
tion. Do„ I beg you, my dear Abb6, be a little gentler 
with her.” 

She also scolded him in a friendly fashion for his 
slovenly appearance. She could see, with her shrewd 
feminine intelligence, that he was taking advantage of 
and abusing his victory. Then she began to make ex¬ 
cuses for her daughter. One day, however, when she 
was thus showing him how he might make what he liked 
of Marthe, the Abb£ Faujas grew weary of her perpet¬ 
ual tenderings of advice. 

“No, no!” he cried rudely, “your daughter is mad; 
she bores me to death, and I won’t have anything more 
to do with her.” 

Madame Rougon looked him keenly in the face and 
pressed her lips closely together. 

“Listen to me, my friend,” she said after a short 
silence; “you are wanting in tact, and that will prove 
your ruin. I have assisted you, not for your own sake, 
but to please our friends in Paris. They wrote to me 
and asked me to pilot you, and I did pilot you. But 
understand this, I will never allow you to come the mas¬ 
ter over me. It’s all very well for that little P^queur, 
and that simple Rastoil, but we are not at all afraid of 
you and we mean to remain the masters. My husband 


330 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

conquered Plassans before you did, and I warn you that 

we shall keep our conquest. 

From this day there was a great coldness between the 
Rougons and the Abb6 Faujas. When Marthe again 
came to complain to her, her mother said to her very 
plainly: 

“Your Abb6 is only making a fool of you. You will 
never derive the slightest satisfaction from that man. If 
I were in your place I shouldn’t hesitate about telling 
him a few plain truths. To begin with, he has been dis¬ 
gustingly dirty for a long time past, and I can’t under¬ 
stand how you can bear to take your meals at the same 
table wi th him. ” 

The day on which her mother had told her that the 
Abb6 was only making a fool of her, Marthe went again 
to Saint-Saturnin’s with a bleeding heart and resolved 
upon a last supreme appeal. She remained in the de¬ 
serted church for two hours, pouring out her soul in 
prayer, waiting longingly for the ecstasy that came not, 
and torturing herself with her search for consolation. 
Impulses of deep humility stretched her prostrate upon 
the flag-stones, momentary thrills of rebellion made her 
start up again with her white teeth clinched, while her 
whole being, wildly racked and strained, broke down 
within her at not being able to grasp or kiss aught save 
the aching void of her own passion. When she rose and 
left the church, the sky seemed black to her; she was 
not conscious of the pavement beneath her feet, and the 
narrow streets left upon her the impression of an im¬ 
mense and lonely wilderness. She threw down her hat 
and shawl upon the dining-room table and went straight 
upstairs to the Abbd Faujas’ room. 

The Abb6 was sitting, buried in thought, at his little 
table, and his pen had fallen from his fingers. He 
opened the door, still preoccupied with his thoughts, but 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


331 


when he saw Marthe standing before him, very pale, and 
with the light of a deep-seated resolution burning in her 
eyes, he gave way to a gesture of anger. 

“What do you want?” he asked. “Why have you 
come upstairs? Go down again and wait for me, if you 
have anything to say to me.” 

She pushed him aside and entered the room without 
speaking a word. 

The priest hesitated for a moment, struggling against 
the influence which was prompting him to raise his 
hand against her. He remained standing in front of 
her, without closing the door that was opened widely. 

“What do you want?” he repeated. “I am busy." 

Then Marthe went and closed the door, and when she 
had done so she drew nearer to the Abbd and said to 
him: 

“I want to speak to you. 

She sat down and looked about the room, at the nar¬ 
row bed, the shabby chest of drawers, and at the great 
black wood Christ, the sight of which, as it stood out 
conspicuously on the naked wall, sent a passing thrill 
through her. A freezing silence seemed to fall from 
the ceiling. The grate was quite empty; there was not 
even a pinch of ashes in it. 

“You will take cold,” said the priest in a calmer 
voice. “Let us go downstairs, I beg of you.” 

“No; I want to speak to you,” said Marthe again. 

Then, clasping her hands together like a penitent 
making her confession, she continued: 

“I owe you much. Before you came, I was without a 
soul. It was you who willed that I should be saved. 
It is owing to you that I have known the only joys of 
my life. You are my savior and my father. For these 
last five years I have only lived through you and for 
you." 


332 


THE CONQUEST OF P LAS SANS 


Her voice broke down and she was slipping onto her 
knees. The priest stopped her with a gestnre. 

"And now, to-day," she cried, "I am suffering and I 
have need of your help. Listen to me, my father. Do 
not withdraw yourself from me. You cannot abandon 
me thus. I tell you that God does not listen to me any 
longer. Have pity upon me, I beseech you. Teach me 
what I must do to make myself whole, and to ever ad¬ 
vance in the love of God.” 

"You must pray,” said the priest gravely. 

"I have prayed; I have prayed for hours with my head 
buried in my hands, trying to lose myself in every word 
of adoration, and yet I have not received consolation. 
I have not felt the presence of God.” 

"You must pray and pray again, pray continually, pray 
until God is moved by your prayers and descends into 
you. ” 

She looked at him in anguish. 

"Then there is nothing but to pray?” she asked. "You 
cannot give me any help?” 

"No; none at all," he replied roughly. 

She threw up her trembling hands in a burst of des¬ 
peration and her throat was swollen with anger. But 
she restrained herself, and she stammered out: 

"Your heaven is fast closed up. You have led me on 
so far only to crush me against the wall. I was very 
peaceful, you will remember, when you came. I was 
living quietly at home here, without a single desire or 
curiosity. It was you who woke me up with words that 
stirred and roused my heart. It was you who made me 
enter upon a fresh youth. Oh! you cannot tell what 
joys you made me know at first! It was like a sweet soft 
warmth thrilling through my whole being. My heart woke 
up within me. I was filled with mighty hopes. Some¬ 
times, when I reflected that I was forty years old, it all 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 333 

seemed foolish to me, and I smiled, and then I defended 
myself, for I felt so happy in it all. Now I want the 
rest of the promised happiness. What I have known 
cannot be all. There is surely something more, isn’t 
there? I believe that I am growing weary of this desire 
that is ever waking up in me, a desire that burns me 
and tortures me. I have no time to lose, now that my 
health is broken down, and I don’t want to find myself 
deceived and duped. There must be something else; 
tell me tfhat there is something else.” 

The Abb£ Faujas stood quite impassive, letting this 
flood of words pass over him without reply. 

"There is nothing else! there is nothing else!" she 
continued, in a burst of indignation; "then you have 
deceived me! You promised me heaven, down there on 
the terrace, on those star-lit evenings, and I believed 
your promises. I sold myself, and gave myself up. I 
was quite mad in those first loving transports of prayer. 
To-day the bargain holds no longer. I shall return to 
my old ways, and resume my old peaceful quiet. I will 
turn everyone out of the house, and make it as it used 
to be, and I will again sit in my old corner on the ter¬ 
race, and mend the linen. Needle-work never wearies me. 
And I will have Ddsirde back to sit at my side on her 
little stool. She used to sit there, the dear innocent, 
and laugh and make dolls—” 

Then she broke out into sobs. 

"I want my children! They were my safeguard. Since 
they went away 1 have lost my head, and have done 
things that I ought not to have done. Why did you 
take them from me? They went away from me one by 
one, and the house became like a strange house to me. 
My heart was no longer wrapped up in it; I was glad 
when I left it for an afternoon; then, when I came back 
in the evening, I seemed to have fallen amongst stran- 


334 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


gers. The very furniture seemed cold and unfriendly. I 
quite hated the house. But I will go and fetch them 
back again, the poor darlings. Everything will be 
changed back to what it used to be directly they return. 
Oh! if I could only sink down again into my old sleepy 
calm!” 

She was growing more and more excited. The priest 
tried to calm her by a method which he had often before 
found efficacious. 

“Be calm, my dear lady, be calm,” he said, and he 
tried to take her hands and hold them pressed between 
his own. 

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, recoiling from him. “I 
don’t want you to do so. When you hold me I am as 
weak as a child. The warmth of your hands takes all 
my resolution and strength away. The trouble would 
only begin again to-morrow for I cannot go on living 
like this, and you only assuage me for an hour.” 

A deep gloom passed over her face, and she exclaimed: 

“No! I am damned now! I shall never love my home 
again. And if the children come, they would ask for 
their father— Oh! it is that which is killing me! I 
shall never be forgiven till I have confessed my crime 
to a priest.” 

Then she fell upon her knees. 

“I am a guilty woman. That is why God turns His 
face away from me.” 

The Abb6 Faujas tried to make her rise up from her 
knees. 

“Be silent!” he cried loudly. “I cannot hear your con¬ 
fession here. Come to Saint-Saturnin’s to-morrow.” 

“My father,” she said supplicatingly, “have pity upon 
me. To-morrow I shall not have the strength for it." 

“I forbid you to speak,” he cried more violently than 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS A NS 


335 


before. "I won’t listen to anything; I will turn my 
head away and close my ears. ” 

He stepped backward and crossed his arms, trying to 
check the confession that was on Marthe’s lips. They 
looked at each other for a moment in silence, with the 
lurking anger that came from their conscious complic¬ 
ity. 

“It is not a priest who would listen to you,” said the 
Abbd in a more choking voice. “Here there is only a 
man to judge and condemn you.” 

“A man!” she cried excitedly; “well, so much the bet¬ 
ter. I prefer a man.” 

She rose from her knees, and continued her feverish 
flow of words. 

“I am not confessing, I am telling you of my wrong¬ 
doing. After the children had gone, I allowed their 
father to go away too. He had never struck me, the 
unhappy man. It was I myself who was mad. I felt hot 
burnings all over my body, and I scratched myself and 
sought the coolness of the floor to calm my excitement. 
Then, when the crisis was past, I felt so ashamed at 
seeing myself naked before strangers that I dared not 
speak. Oh, you cannot guess what frightful night-mares 
overwhelmed me and made me hurl myself onto the 
floor. All hell seemed to be racking my brain with its 
torments. He, poor man, with his chattering teeth, ex¬ 
cited my pity. It was he who was afraid of me. When 
you had left the room he dared not venture near me, 
and he passed the night on a chair.” 

The Abbd Faujas tried to stop her. 

“You are killing yourself,” he exclaimed. “Don’t stir 
up these recollections. God will take count of your 
sufferings." 

“It is I who have sent him to Les Tulettes,” she con¬ 
tinued, silencing the pri.est with an energetic gesture. 



336 


THE CONQUEST OF PL ASS HNS 


“You all told me that he was mad. Oh, the unendurable 
life I have led! I have always been terrified at the 
thought of madness. When I was quite young, I used 
to feel as though my skull were being opened and my 
head were being emptied. I seemed to have a block of 
ice within my brow. Then I felt that feeling of awful 
cold again, and I was perpetually in fear of going mad. 
They took my husband away. I let them take him. I 
didn’t know what I was doing. But, ever since that 
day, I have never been able to close my eyes without 
seeing him over there. It is that which makes me be¬ 
have so strangely, and roots me for hours together in 
the same spot, with my eyes wide open. I know the 
house; I can see it. My uncle Macquart showed it to 
me. It is as gloomy as a prison, with its black win¬ 
dows.” 

She seemed to be choking. She raised her handker¬ 
chief to her lips, and when she took it away again it 
was spotted with blood. The priest, with his arms 
crossed rigidly in front of him, waited till the attack 
was over. 

“You know it all, don’t you?” she resumed, in a 
stammering voice. “lam a miserable guilty woman; 

I have sinned for you. But give me life, give me hap¬ 
piness, and I shall enter without remorse into that su¬ 
perhuman life which you have promised me.” 

“You lie,” said the priest slowly, “I know nothing; I 
was ignorant of your having committed this wickedness.” 

She recoiled from before him, clasping her hands, and 
stammering, and gazing at him with terrified glances. 
Then, unable to restrain herself, she broke out wildly 
and recklessly: 

“Hear me, Ovide, I love you, and you know that I do, 
do you not? I have loved you, Ovide, since the first 
day that you came here, I refrained from telling you 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


337 


N 

so, for I saw it displeased you; but I knew quite well 
that you were gaining my whole heart. I was satisfied 
with that, and I hoped that one day we might be able 
to be happy in a wholly divine union. Then it was that 
I emptied the house for your sake. I dragged myself 
on my knees, and I became your slave. You surely can¬ 
not go on being cruel forever. You have consented to 
everything; you have allowed'me to make myself belong 
only to you, and to remove all the obstacles which kept 
us apart. Think of all this, I beseech you. Now that I am 
ill and abandoned, and my heart is broken and my head 
seems empty, you Surely cannot reject me. It is true 
that we have said nothing openly to each other; but my 
love spoke, and your silence made answer. It is the 
man to whom I am speaking, and not the priest. You 
told me that it was only a man who was here. The man 
will hearken to me. I love you, Ovide, I love you, and 
it is killing me.” 

She burst out into a fit of sobbing. The Abb4 Faujas 
had braced himself up to his full height. He stepped 
toward Marthe and poured out upon her alt his scorn of 
woman. 

“Oh, miserable flesh!” he said. “I was hoping that 
you would be reasonable, and that you would never 
lower yourself to the shame of uttering all this filthi¬ 
ness. Ah! it is the eternal struggle of evil against the 
strong will. You are the temptation from below that 
leads to base back-sliding and final overthrow. The 
priest has no enemy save such as you, and you ought to 
be driven from the churches as impure and accursed.” 

'I love you, Ovide,” she stammered out again; ‘‘I 
love you, help me." 

“I have already come too near you," the priest contin¬ 
ued. "If I fall, it will be you, woman, who have de¬ 
prived me of my strength by your own sole desire. Go 


22 


338 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


away and depart from me; you are Satan! I will beat 
you to force the evil angel to come out of your body. 

She fell into a crouching position against the wall, 
silent with terror at the priest’s threatening fist. Her 
hair became unloosened, and a long white lock fell over 
her brow. As she looked about the room for a refuge, 
her eyes fell upon the black wood Christ, and she had 
still the strength left to stretch out her hands toward 
it with a passionate gesture. 

"Do not implore the Cross! ” cried the priest in wild 
anger. "Jesus lived chastely, and it was that which 
enabled Him to die.” 

Just then Madame Faujas came into the room, carry¬ 
ing on her arm a great basket of provisions. She put it 
down at once on seeing her son so violently angry, and 
she threw her arms round him. 

"Ovide, my child, calm yourself,” she said, as she 
caressed him. 

Then, turning upon the cowering and crushed Marthe 
an annihilating glance, she cried: 

"Can you never leave him at peace? Since he won’t 
have you, at any rate don’t make him ill. Come, go 
downstairs; it is quite impossible for you to remain 
here.” 

Marthe did not move. Madame Faujas was obliged 
to lift her up and thrust her toward the door. She 
stormed at her and accused her of having waited till she 
had gone out, and made her promise that she would not 
again come upstairs and make such scenes, and then she 
banged the door violently after her. « 

Marthe went tottering and reeling down the stairs. 
She had left off crying, and kept saying to herself: 
"Francois will come back again; Francois will turn 
them all out into the street.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


339 


XXI 

The Toulon coach, which passed through Les Tulettes 
where it changed horses, left Plassans at three o’clock. 
Marthe, goaded on by a fixed and unswerving resolve, 
was anxious not to lose a single moment. She put on 
her shawl and hat, and ordered Rose to dress imme¬ 
diately. 

“I can’t tell what madame is after,” the cook said to 
Olympe; “but I fancy we are going away for some 
days. ” 

Marthe left the keys in the cupboard doors; she was 
in a hurry to be off. Olympe, who went with her to 
the door, tried vainly to find out where she was going 
and how long she would be away. 

“Well, make yourself quite easy," she said to her in 
her pleasant way, as they parted at the door; "I will 
look after everything, and you will find everything all 
right when you come back. Don’t hurry yourself, and 
give yourself time to do all you want. If you go to 
Marseilles, bring us back some fresh shell-fish. 

Before Marthe had turned the corner of the Rue Tara- 
velle, Olympe had taken possession of the whole house. 
When Trouche came home he found his wife banging 
the doors about and examining the contents of the draw¬ 
ers and closets, as she hummed and sang and rushed 
about the rooms. 

“She’s gone off and taken that beast of a cook with 
her!” she cried to him, throwing herself lollingly into 
an easy-chair.. “What a piece of luck it would be if 
they both got upset into a ditch and stopped there! 


S40 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

Well, we must enjoy ourselves for as long as we have 
the chance.” 

Marthe and Rose reached the Cours Sauvaire only 
just in time to catch the Toulon coach. The coupd was 
disengaged. When the cook heard her mistress tell 
the conductor to set them down at Les Tulettes, she 
took her place with an expression of vexation, and before 
the coack had got out of the town, she had commenced 
grumbling in her cross-grained fashion. 

“Well, I did think that at last you were going to be¬ 
have sensibly! I felt sure that we were going to Mar¬ 
seilles to see Monsieur Octave. But it’s just like you. 
You are always hunting after troubles, and always doing 
things that upset you.” 

Marthe was lying back in her corner in a half-swoon¬ 
ing condition. Now that she was no longer energetically 
striving against the sorrow which was breaking her heart, 
a death-like faintness was creeping over her; but the 
cook was not even looking at her. 

"Did anyone ever hear of such an absurd idea as go¬ 
ing to see the master?” she continued. “A cheerful sort 
of sight it will be for us. We sha’n’t be able to sleep 
for a week after it. You may be as frightened as you 
like at nights, but you’ll not get me to come and look 
under the furniture for you. It isn’t as though your 
going to see him could do the master any good. He’s 
just as likely to fly at your face as not! I hope to 
goodness that they won’t let you see him. It’s against 
the rules, I know. I ought not to have got into the 
coach when I heard you mention Les Tulettes, for I 
don’t think you would have ventured to go on such 
a foolish errand all by yourself.” 

A deep sigh from Marthe checked her flow of words. 
She turned round to her mistress, and saw her pale and 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


341 


suffocating, and she grew still angrier than before as 
she opened the window to let in the fresh air. 

She continued in this strain till they arrived at Les 
Tulettes, eulogizing the Faujases and the Trouches, and 
accusing her mistress of all manner of wrong-doings. 
She concluded by saying: 

“Ah, they are the sort of people who would make ex¬ 
cellent masters if they were rich enough to be able to 
afford to keep servants. But fortune only comes in the 
way of bad-hearted folks!” 

Marthe, who was now calmer, made no reply. She 
gazed vaguely out of the window watching the scraggy 
trees flit past and the wide-stretching fields unroll them¬ 
selves like great lengths of brown cloth. Rose’s growl- 
ings were lost in the jolting of the coach. 

When they reached Les Tulettes, Marthe hastened 
toward the house of her uncle Macquart, followed by 
the cook who had now subsided into silence and was 
contenting herself by shrugging her shoulders and bit¬ 
ing her lips. 

“Hallo! is that you?” the uncle cried in great sur¬ 
prise. “I thought you were in your bed. I heard that 
you were ill. Well, my little dear, you really don’t look 
very strong. Have you come to ask me for some dinner?” 

“I should like to see Francois, uncle,” Marthe said. 

“Francois?” repeated Macquart, looking her in the 
face. “You would like to see Francois? It is a very 
kind thought of yours. The poor fellow has been crying 
out for you a great deal. I have seen him from the end 
of my garden knocking his fist against the walls while 
he called for you to come to him. And it is to see him 
that you have come, here? I really thought that you had 
all forgotten all about him over yonder. 

Great tears welled to Marthe’s eyes. 

“It will not be very easy to see him to-day,” Macquart 


342 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


continued. “It is getting on for four o’clock, and I’m 
not at all sure that the manager will give you leave. 
Mouret has not been very quiet lately. He smashes 
everything he can lay his hands on and talks about burn¬ 
ing the place down. These madmen are not in a pleas¬ 
ant humor every day.” * 

Marthe trembled as she listened to her uncle; she was 
going to question him, but instead of doing so she 
merely stretched out her hands supplicatingly toward 
him. 

“I beseech you to help me,” she said. “I have come 
on purpose. It is absolutely necessary that I should 
speak to Francois to-day, at once. You have friends in 
the asylum and you can obtain me admission.” 

“No doubt, no doubt,” he replied without committing 
himself further. 

He appeared to be in a state of great perplexity, un¬ 
able to clearly discover the cause of Marthe’s sudden 
journey, and seemed to be discussing the matter in his 
own mind from a personal point of view known only to 
himself. He glanced inquisitively at the cook, who 
turned her back upon him. At last a slight smile be¬ 
gan to play about his lips. 

“Well,” he said, “since you wish it, I will see what 
I can do for you. Only remember that if your mother 
is displeased about it, you just tell her that I was not 
able to dissuade you. I am afraid that you are going 
to do yourself harm; it isn’t a pleasant place to visit.” 

Rose absolutely declined to accompany them to the 
asylum. She had seated herself in front of a fire of 
vine-stumps which was blazing on the great hearth. 

“I don’t want to have my eyes torn out,” she said 
snappishly. "The master isn’t over-fond of me. I 
had rather stop here and warm myself." 

“It would be very good of you if you were to get us 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS4NS 


343 


some mulled wine ready,” Macquart whispered in her 
ear. ‘‘The wine and the sugar are in the cupboard 
there. We shall want it when we come back.” Mac- 
quart did not take his niece to the principal gate of the 
asylum. He went round to the left and inquired at a 
little low door for the warder Alexandre, with whom, on 
his appearance, he exchanged a few words in low tones. 
Then they all three silently entered the seemingly inter¬ 
minable corridors. The warder walked in front. 

‘‘I will wait for you here,” said Macquart, coming to 
a halt in a little court-yard. ‘‘Alexandre will remain 
with you.” 

‘‘I would rather be left alone,” said Marthe. 

‘‘Madame would very quickly have enough of it if 
she were,” Alexandre replied, with a tranquil smile. 
“Pm running a good deal of risk as it is.” 

He took Marthe through another court and stopped 
in front of a little door. As he softly turned the key, 
he said in low tones: 

“Don* t be afraid. He has been quieter to-day, and 
they have been able to take the strait-waistcoat off. If 
he shows any violence you must step out backward and 
leave me alone with him.” 

Marthe trembled as she passed through the narrow 
doorway. At first she could only see something lying in a 
heap against the wall in one of the corners. The day was 
waning and the cell was only lighted by the pale glim¬ 
mer which fell from a grated window. 

‘‘Well, my fine fellow!” Alexandre exclaimed familiar¬ 
ly, as he stepped up to Mouret and tapped him on the 
shoulder; ‘‘I am bringing you a visitor. I hope you will 
behave yourself properly.” 

Then he returned and leaned his back against the door 
and kept his eyes fixed upon the madman. Mouret got 


344 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/INS 


up slowly onto his feet. He did not show the slight¬ 
est sign of surprise. 

“Is it you, my dear?” he said in his quiet voice; “I was 
expecting you; I was getting uneasy about the chil¬ 
dren. ” 

Marthe’s knees trembled under her, and she looked 
at him anxiously, rendered quite speechless by his affec¬ 
tionate reception of her. He did not appear changed 
at all. If anything, he looked better than he had done 
before. He was sleek and plump and cleanly shaved 
and his eyes were bright. His little self-satisfied man¬ 
nerisms had reappeared,, and he rubbed his hands and 
winked his right eye, and stalked with his old banter¬ 
ing air. 

“I am very well indeed, my dear. We can go back 
home together. You have come for me, haven’t you? 
I hope the garden has been well looked after. The slugs 
were dreadfully fond of the lettuces, and the beds were 
quite eaten up with them, but I know a way of destroy¬ 
ing them. I have got some splendid ideas into my head 
that I’ll tell you of. We are very comfortably off, 
and we can afford to pay for our fancies.” 

He rattled along at great length, inquiring about every 
single tree in his garden, and going into the minutest 
details of the household arrangements, and showing an 
extraordinary memory of a host of insignificant mat¬ 
ters. Marthe was deeply touched by the gentle affection 
which he manifested for her, and she thought she could 
detect a loving delicacy in the care which he took to ad¬ 
dress nothing that savored of a reproach to her, and to 
make not even the least allusion to what had passed. 

She felt that she was forgiven, and she swore to her¬ 
self to atone for her crime by becoming the submissive 
servant of this man who was so sublime in his good nat- 


THE CONQUEST OF P LASS ANS 345 

ure. Great silent tears rolled down her cheeks, and her 
knees bent under her in her gratitude. 

“Take care!” the warder whispered in her ear. “I 
don’t like the look of his eyes.” 

“But he is not mad!” she stammered out; “I swear to 
you that he is not mad! I must speak to the manager. 

I want to take him away with me at once.” 

“Take care!” the warder repeated sharply, pulling her 
by her arm. 

Mouret had suddenly stopped short in the midst of his 
chatter and he fell crouching upon the ground. Then 
he began to crawl briskly along by the side of the wall 
on his hands and knees. 

“Wow! wow!” he barked out, in hoarse, prolonged 
tones. 

He gave a spring up into the air and fell down upon 
his side. Then a dreadful scene followed. He began to 
writhe about like a worm, and discolored his face with 
blows from his fist, and he tore his flesh with his nails. 
In a short time he was half-naked, his clothes torn to 
rags, and himself bruised and crushed and groaning. 

“Come away, madame, come away!” cried the warder. 

Marthe stood rooted to the ground. She recognized in 
the scene before her her own writhings upon the ground. 
It was just in this way that she had thrown herself upon 
the floor of her bedroom; it was just in this way that 
she had beaten and torn herself. She even recognized 
the very tones of her voice. Mouret had just the same 
rattling groan. It was she who had brought this poor 
man into this miserable state. 

“He is not mad!” she stammered out; “he cannot be 
mad; it would be too horrible! I would rather die!” 

The warder put his arm round her and pulled her out 
of the cell, but she remained pressing herself against 
the outside of the door. She could hear the sounds of a 


346 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

struggle going on within, screams like those of a pig 
that is being slaughtered; then the sound of a dull fall 
like that of a bundle of damp linen could be heard, and 
then there was a death-like silence. When the warder 
came out of the cell again, the night had nearly fallen. 
Through the partially opened door, Marthe could see 
nothing but a black void. 

“Well, upon my word, madame,” cried the warder, “you 
are a very queer person to say that he is not mad. I 
nearly had to leave my thumb behind me; he got firmly 
hold of it between his teeth. However, he’s quieted 
now for the next few hours.” 

As he took her back to her uncle, he continued: 

“You’ve no idea how cunning they all are. They are 
as quiet as can be for hours together, and talk to you in 
a quite sensible manner, and then, without the least 
notice or warning, they fly at your throat. I could see 
quite well that he was up to some mischief or other just 
now, when he was talking to you about the children, 
there was such a strange look in his eyes.” 

When Marthe got back to her uncle, in the small 
court-yard, she exclaimed feverishly, in a weak and broken 
voice, and without being able to shed a tear: 

“He is mad! he is mad!” 

“There’s no doubt he’s mad,” said her uncle with a 
snigger. “Why, what did you expect to find him? Peo¬ 
ple are not brought here for nothing, and the place isn’t 
healthy, either. If I were to be shut up there for a 
couple of hours, I should go mad myself. 

He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, and 
he noted her every nervous start and shudder. Then, 
in his good-natured tones he said to her: 

“Perhaps you would like to go and see the grand¬ 
mother?” 


THE CONQUET OF PLASSANS 347 

Marthe made a gesture of terror, and hid her face 
in her hands. 

“It would be no trouble to anyone,” he said. “Alex¬ 
andre would be glad to take us. She is over there, on 
that side, and there is nothing to be afraid of about 
her. She is perfectly quiet. She never gives any 
trouble, does she, Alexandre? She always remains seated 
and gazing in front of her. She hasn’t moved for the 
last dozen years. However, if you’d rather not see 
her, we won’t go.” 

As the warder was taking his leave of them. Mac- 
quart invited him to come and have a glass of mulled 
wine, winking his eyes in a certain fashion which seemed 
to decide Alexander to accept the invitation. They 
were obliged to support Marthe, whose legs sank be¬ 
neath her at each step. When they reached the house, 
they were actually carrying her. Her face was con¬ 
vulsed, her eyes were staring widely, and her whole body 
was stiffened and rigid in one of those nervous seizures 
which kept her like a dead woman for hours at a time. 

“There! what did I tell you?” cried Rose, when she 
saw them. “A nice state she’s in! How are we going 
to get home, I should like to know? Good heavens! 
how can people take such absurd fancies into their 
heads? The master ought to have given her neck a 
twist, and it would have taught her a lesson, perhaps. 

“Pooh!” said Macquart; “I’ll take her and lay her 
down on my bed. It won’t kill us if we have to sit 
up round the fire all night.” 

He drew aside a calico curtain which was hung in front 
of a recess. Rose proceeded to undress her mistress, 
growling and grumbling as she did so. The only thing 
they could do, she said, was to put a hot brick at her 
feet. 

“Now that she’s all snug, we’ll have a drop to drink,” 


348 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


resumed Macquart, with his wolfish snigger. “That wine 
of yours smells confoundedly good, old lady!" 

Rose, mollified and pleased by these compliments, be¬ 
gan to laugh. The vine-wood fire was now a great mass 
of glowing embers. The cups were filled up again. 

“And so," said Macquart, leaning on his elbows and 
looking Rose in the face, “it was a sudden whim of my 
niece to come here?” 

“Oh, don’t talk about it," replied the cook; “it will 
make me angry again. Madame is getting as mad as 
the master. She can’t tell any longer who are her friends 
and who are not. I believe she had a quarrel with his 
reverence, the vicar, before she set off; I heard their 
voices raised loudly." 

Macquart broke out into a loud laugh. 

“They used, however, to get on very well together." 

“Yes, indeed; but nothing lasts long with such a 
brain as madame has got. I’ll be bound she’s looking 
back regretfully now to the thrashings the master used 
to give her at nights. We found his stick in the gar¬ 
den. ” 

Macquart looked at her more keenly, and, as he drank 
his hot wine, he said: 

“Perhaps she came to take Francois back with her.” 

“Oh, Heaven forbid!” cried Rose, with an expression 
of horror. “The master would go on finely in the 
house; he would kill us all. His coming back is one 
of my greatest dreads; I’m in a constant trouble lest 
he should make his escape and get back some night and 
murder us all. When I think about it when I’m in 
bed, I can’t go to sleep. I fancy I can see him steal- 
ing in through the window with his hair bristling up 
and his eyes flaming like matches." 

Macquart grew noisily merry and he rapped his cup 
on the table, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


349 


“That would be very unpleasant,” he said, “very un¬ 
pleasant. I don’t suppose he feels very kindly toward 
you, least of all toward the vicar who has stepped 
into his place. The vicar would only make a mouthfnl 
for him, big as he is, for madmen they say, are hugely 
strong. I say, Alexandre, just imagine poor Francois 
suddenly making his appearance at home! He would 
make a pretty clean sweep there, wouldn’t he? It would 
be a fine sight, eh?” 

He cast glances at the warder, who went on tranquilly 
drinking his mulled wine and made no reply beyond 
nodding his head assentingly. 

“Oh! it’s only a fancy; it’s all nonsense,” Macquart 
added, as he observed Rose’s terrified looks. 

Just at this moment, Marthe began to struggle vio¬ 
lently behind the calico curtain; and she had to be held 
for some minutes to keep her from falling onto the 
floor. When she was again lying stretched out in a 
corpse-like rigidity, her uncle came and warmed his legs 
before the fire, thinking to himself and murmuring, 
without paying heed to what he was saying: 

“The little woman isn’t very easy to manage, indeed.” 

Then he suddenly said: “The Rougons, now, what do 
they say about all this business? They take the Abbd’s 
side, don’t they?” 

“The master didn’t make himself pleasant enough for 
them to regret him,” replied Rose. “There was nothing 
too bad for him to say against them.” 

“Well, he wasn’t far wrong there,” said Macquart. 
“The Rougons are miserable skinflints. Just think that 
they refused to buy that corn-field over there, a magnifi¬ 
cent speculation which I undertook to manage. F41icit£ 
would pull a queer face if she saw Francois coming 
back.” 

He began to snigger again, and he took a turn round 


350 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


the table. Then, with an expression of determination, 
he lighted his pipe. 

“We musn’t forget the time, my boy,” he said to 
Alexandre, with another wink. “I will go back with 
you; Marthe seems quiet now. Rose will get the table 
laid by the time I return. You must be hungry, Rose, 
eh? As you are obliged to stay the night here, you 
shall have a mouthful with me.” 

He went away with the warder, and he had not re¬ 
turned to the house again at the end of half an hour. 

Rose, who was beginning to feel a little tired of being 
alone, opened the door and went out and leaned over 
the terrace, watching the deserted road in the clear night 
air. As she was going back into the house, she fan¬ 
cied she could see two dark shadows standing in the 
middle of a path behind a hedge. 

“It looks just like the uncle,” she said to herself; "he 
seems to be talking to a priest.” 

A few minutes later, Macquart returned. He said 
that that blessed Alexandre had been chattering to him 
interminably. 

“Wasn’t it you who were over there just now with a 
priest?” asked Rose. 

“I, with a priest!” he cried. “Why, you must have 
been dreaming; there isn’t a priest in the neighbor¬ 
hood. ” 

He rolled his little glistening eyes about. Then he 
seemed to be rather uneasy about the lie he had told, 
and he added: 

“Well, there is the Abbd Fenil, but it’s just the same 
as if he wasn’t here, for he never goes out." 

“The Abbd Fenil isn’t up to much,” remarked the 
cook. 

This seemed to annoy Macquart. 

“Why do you say that? Not up to much, eh? He 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


351 


does a great deal of good here, and he’s a very worthy 
sort of fellow. He’s worth a whole heap of priests who 
make a lot of fuss.” 

His irritation, however, immediately disappeared, and 
he began to laugh upon observing that Rose was look¬ 
ing at him in surprise. 

“I was only joking, you know,” he said. "You are 
quite right; he’s like ali the other priests; they are all 
a set of hypocrites. I know now who it was that you 
saw with me. I met our grocer’s wife. She was wear¬ 
ing a black dress, and you must have mistaken that for 
a cassock.” 

Rose made an omelet, and Macquart placed a piece of 
cheese upon the table. They had not finished eating 
when Marthe sat up in bed with the look of astonish¬ 
ment of a person who wakes up in a strange place. 
When she had brushed aside her hair and recollected 
where she was, she sprang to the ground and said she 
must be off at once. Macquart appeared very much vexed 
at her awaking. 

"It is quite impossible,” he said, “for you to go back 
to Plassans to-night. You are shivering with fever, and 
you would fall ill on the road. Rest yourself, and we 
will see about it to-morrow. To begin with, there is 
no conveyance here.” 

"You can drive me in your gig,” Marthe said. 

“No, no; I can’t." 

Marthe, who was dressing herself with feverish haste, 
declared that she would walk to Plassans rather than 
stay the night at Les Tulettes. Her uncle seemed to 
be thinking. He had locked the door and slipped the 
key into his pocket. He entreated his niece, threatened 
her, and invented all kinds of stories to induce her to 
remain. She paid no attention to what he was saying, 
and finished by putting on her bonnet. 


352 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“You are very much mistaken if you imagine you can 
persuade her to give in,” exclaimed Rose, who was 
quietly finishing her cheese. “She would get out 
through the window first. You had better put your 
horse to the trap.” 

After a short interval of silence, Macquart, shrugging 
his shoulders, exclaimed angrily: 

“Well, it makes no difference to me! Let her lay 
herself up if she likes! I was only thinking about her 
own good. Come along; what will happen will happen! 
I’ll drive you over.” 

Marthe had to be carried to the gig; she was trem¬ 
bling violently with fever. Her uncle threw an old 
cloak over her shoulders. Then he gave a cluck with 
his tongue and set off. 

“It’s no trouble to me,” he said, “to go over to Plas- 
sans this evening; on the contrary, indeed, there’s 
always some amusement to be had there. 

It was about ten o’clock. There was a ruddy glim¬ 
mer about the sky, heavy with rain clouds, that cast a 
feeble light upon the road. All the way as they drove 
along Macquart kept himself bent forward and cast 
glances into the ditches and behind the hedges. When 
Rose asked him what he was looking for, he said that 
some wolves had come down from the ravines of La 
Seille. He had quite recovered his good humor. 
When they were between two and three miles from Plas- 
sans the rain began to fall. It poured down, cold and 
pelting. Then Macquart began to swear, and Rose 
would have liked to beat her mistress, who was moan¬ 
ing underneath the cloak. When at last they reached 
Plassans the rain had ceased, and the sky was blue 
again. 

“Are you going to the RueBalande?” asked Macquart. 

*"Of course,” replied Rose in astonishment. 


The conquest of plassans 


353 


Macquart then began to explain that as Marthe seemed 
to him to be very ill, he had thought it might perhaps 
be better to take her to her mother’s. After much 
hesitation, however, he consented to stop his horse at 
the Mourets’ house. Marthe had not even thought of 
bringing a latch-key with her. Rose, however, fortu¬ 
nately had her own in her pocket, but when she tried to 
open the door it would not move. The Trouches had 
shot the bolts inside. She knocked against it with her 
fist, but without producing any other answer than a dull 
echo in the lobby. 

“It’s no use your giving yourself any further trouble,” 
said Macquart with a laugh. “They won’t disturb 
themselves to come down. Well, here you are shut out 
of your own home. Don’t you think now that my first 
idea was a good one? We must take the poor child to 
the Rougons’. She will be better there than in her own 
room; I assure you she will." 

Felicity was overwhelmed with alarm when she saw her 
daughter arriving at such a late hour, drenched with 
rain and seeming half dead. She put her to bed on the 
second floor, set the house in great commotion, and 
called up all the servants. When she grew a little 
calmer, as she sat by Marthe’s bedside, she asked for an 
explanation. 

“What has happened? How is it that you have 
brought her to me in such a state?” 

Then Macquart with a great show of kindness, told 
her about “the dear child’s” expedition. He defended 
himself and said that he had done all that he could to 
dissuade her from going to see Francois, and he ended 
by calling upon Rose to confirm him in this, as he saw 
that Felicity was scanning him narrowly with a suspi¬ 
cious glance. Madame Rougon, however, continued to 
shake her head. 


2 3 


354 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


“It is a very strange story!” she said; “there is some¬ 
thing more in it than I can understand. 

She knew Macquart very well, and she guessed that 
there was some rascality somewhere from the ex¬ 
pression of joy which she could detect in his eyes. She 
questioned Rose at great length without succeeding in 
learning anything more. Marthe was lying back upon 
the pillow in a fainting state. 


XXII 

It was perfectly dark in the cell at Les Tulettes. A 
draught of icy-cold air awoke Mouret from the catalep¬ 
tic stupor into which his access oi violence in the even¬ 
ing had thrown him. He remained lying against the 
wall in perfect stillness for a moment or two, with his 
eyes staring widely open; and then he began to roll his 
head about gently upon the cold stone, wailing like a 
child just awakened from its sleep. The current of 
chill damp air struck against his legs, and he got up 
and looked round to see where it came from. In front 
of him he saw the door of his cell thrown wide open. 

“She has left the door open,” said the madman aloud; 
“she will be expecting me, and I must be off.” 

He went out, and then he came back and felt over his 
clothes after the manner of a methodical man who is 
afraid of forgetting something, then he closed the door 
carefully behind him. He passed through the first court 
with an easy unconcerned gait as though he were merely 
taking a stroll. As he was entering the second one, he 
caught sight of a warder who seemed to be on the watch. 
He stopped and deliberated for a moment. But, the 
•warder having disappeared, he crossed the court and 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


355 


reached another door which led to the open country. 
He closed it behind him without any appearance of as¬ 
tonishment or haste. 

“She is a good woman all the same,” he murmured. 
“She must have heard me calling her. It must be 
getting late. I will go home at once for fear they should 
be feeling uneasy. ” 

He struck out along a path. It seemed quite natural 
to him to be amongst the open fields. When he had 
gone a hundred yards he had forgotten altogether that 
Les Tulettes was behind him, and he imagined that he 
had just left a vine-grower's, where he had bought fifty 
hogsheads of wine. When he reached a spot where five 
roads met, he recognized where he was, and he began to 
laugh as he said to himself: 

“What a goose I am! I was going to go up the hill 
toward Saint-Eutrope; it is to the left I must turn. I 
shall be at Plassans in a good hour and a half.” 

Then he went merrily along the high-road looking at 
each of the mile-stones as at an old acquaintance. He 
stopped for a moment before certain fields and country- 
houses with an air of interest. Heavy drops of rain began 
to fall; the wind was blowing from the east and was 
full of moisture. 

“Hallo!” said Mouret, looking up at the sky uneasily, 
“I mustn't stop loitering about there. The wind is in 
the east, and there's going to be a pretty down-pour. I 
shall never be able to get to Plassans before it begins; 
and I'm not well wrapped up either.” 

He gathered up round his breast the thick gray wool¬ 
en waistcoat which he had torn into rags at Les Tu¬ 
lettes. He had a bad bruise on his jaw to which he raised 
his hand without heeding the sharp pain which it caused 
him. The high-road was quite deserted, and he only 
met a cart going down a hill at a leisurely pace. The 


356 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

driver was asleep, and made no response to his friendly 
good night. The rain did not overtake him till he reached 
the bridge across the Viorne. It distressed him very 
much and he went down to take shelter under the bridge, 
grumbling to himself that it was quite impossible to go 
on through such weather, and that nothing ruined clothes 
so much, and that if he had known what was coming he 
would have brought an umbrella. He waited patiently 
for a long half-hour, amusing himself by listening to the 
splashing of the rain; then, when the down-pour was 
over, he returned to the high-road and at last reached 
Plassans. He took the greatest care to keep himself from 
getting splashed with mud. 

It was nearly midnight, though Mouret calculated that 
it could scarcely yet be eight o’clock. He passed through 
the empty streets, feeling quite distressed that he had 
kept his wife waiting such a long time. 

“She won’t be able to understand it,” he thought. 
"The dinner will be quite cold. Ah! I shall get a nice 
reception from Rose.” 

He reached the Rue Balande and stood before his 
own door. 

“Ah!” he said, “I have not got my latch-key.” 

He did not knock at the door, however. The kitchen 
window was quite dark, and the other windows in the 
front were equally blank of all sign of life. A sense of 
deep suspicion took possession of the madman; with an 
instinct that was quite animal-like, he scented danger. 
He stepped back into the shadow of the neighboring 
houses, and examined the front again; then he seemed to 
come to a resolution, and he went round into the Chevil- 
lottes alley. But the little door that led into the garden 
was bolted. Then, impelled by a sudden rage, he threw 
himself against it with tremendous force, and the little 
door, rotten with damp, broke into two pieces. The 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


357 


violence of the shock stunned Mouret for the moment, 
and left him quite unconscious as to why he had just 
broken down the door, which he now tried to mend 
again by joining the broken pieces. 

"That’s a nice thing to have done, when I might so 
easily have knocked,” he said to himself with a sudden 
pang of regret. "It will cost me at least thirty francs 
to get a new door.” 

He was now in the garden. As he raised his head 
and saw the bedroom on the first floor brightly lighted, 
he came to the conclusion that his wife was going to bed. 
This caused him great astonishment, and he told himself 
that he must certainly have dropped off to sleep under 
the bridge while he was waiting for the rain to stop. It 
must be very late, he thought. The windows of the 
neighboring houses, Monsieur Rastoil’s, as well as those 
of the Sub-Prefecture, were in darkness. He fixed his 
eyes again upon his own house as he caught sight of the 
glow of a lamp on the second floor behind the Abbd 
Faujas’s thick curtains. It was like a flaming eye, lighted 
up in the forehead of the house, and it seemed to scorch 
him. He pressed his brow with his burning hands, and 
his head grew dizzy and confused, racked with some 
horrible recollection like a vague night-mare, in which 
nothing is clearly defined, which seemed to be pregnant 
with the menace of some long-standing danger to himself 
and his family, which was growing and increasing in 
horror, and threatening to swallow up the house unless 
he could do something to save it. 

“Marthe, Marthe, where are you?” he stammered out 
in low tones. "Come and bring away the children.” 

He looked about the garden for Marthe. He could no 
longer recognize the garden. It seemed to him to be 
Jjjj-ggrj to be empty and gray and like a cemetery. The 
bushes of box had vanished, the lettuces were no longer 


358 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

there, and the fruit-trees had disappeared. He turned 
round again, and came back and knelt down to see if it 
was the slugs that had eaten everything up. The dis¬ 
appearance of the box caused him an especial pang, as 
though some of the actual life of the house had died 
out. Who was it that had killed it? A dull, angry 
indignation rose up in him as he contemplated all this 
ruin. 

“Marthe, Marthe, where are you?” he called again. 

He looked for her in the little conservatory to the 
right of the terrace. It was littered up with the dead 
dry bodies of the tall box-bushes. They were piled up 
in bundles in the midst of the stumps of the fruit-trees. 
In one corner was D6sir£e’s bird-cage, hanging from a 
nail, with the door broken off and the wire-work sadly 
torn. The madman stepped back, overwhelmed with 
fear as though he had opened the door of a vault. Stam¬ 
mering and overcome, he went back to the terrace and 
paced up and down before the door and the shuttered 
windows. His increasing rage gave his limbs the supple¬ 
ness of a wild beast’s. He braced himself up and trod 
along noiselessly, trying to find some opening. An air¬ 
hole into the cellar was sufficient for him. He squeezed 
himself up and glided in with the nimbleness of a cat, 
scraping the wall with his nails. At last he was inside 
the house. 

The cellar door was only latched. He made his way 
through the thick darkness of the passage, groping along 
the walls with his hands, and pushing open the kitchen 
door. The matches were on a shelf at the left. He 
went straight to this shelf, struck a light to enable him 
to get a lamp which stood upon the mantel-piece without 
breaking anything. Then he looked about him. There 
appeared to have been a big meal there that evening. 
The kitchen was in a state of festive disorder. The 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


859 


table was strewn with dirty plates and dishes and 
glasses. There was a litter of still warm pans on the 
sink and the chairs and the floor. A coffee-urn that had 
been forgotten was still boiling away over a lighted 
lamp, tilted over on one side like a tipsy man. Mouret 
put it straight and then arranged the pans tidily. He 
smelt at them, sniffed at the drops of liquor that re¬ 
mained in the glasses, and counted the dishes and plates 
with growing angry irritation. This was no longer his 
quiet orderly kitchen; it seemed as though a whole hotel 
full of food had been wasted, and all this guzzling dis¬ 
order reeked of indigestion. 

“Marthe! Marthe!” he repeated again as he returned 
into the passage, carrying the lamp in his hand; “answer 
me, tell me where they have shut you up. W® must be 
off, we must be off at once." 

He searched for her in the dining-room. The two 
cupboards to the right and left of the stove were open. 
From a burst bag of gray paper on the edge of a shelf 
lumps of sugar were falling onto the floor. Higher 
up Mouret could see a bottle of brandy with the neck 
broken off, plugged up with a piece of rag. Then he got 
onto a chair to examine the cupboards. They were half 
empty. Not being able to find Marthe in the closets, 
Mouret searched all over the room, looking behind the 
curtains and underneath the furniture. Fragments of 
bone and pieces of broken bread were lying about the 
floor, and there were marks on the table that had been 
left by sticky glasses." Then he crossed the hall and 
went to look for Marthe in the drawing-room. But, as 
soon as he opened the door, he stopped short. It could 
not really be his own drawing-room. The bright mauve 
paper, the red-flowered carpet, the new easy-chairs cov¬ 
ered with cerise damask, filled him with amazement. 


§60 the CONQUEST of plhsshns 

He was afraid to enter a room that did not belong to 
him, and he closed the door. 

"Marthe! Marthe! ” he stammered out again in ac¬ 
cents of despair. 

He went back and stood in the middle of the passage, 
unable to quiet the hoarse panting which was swelling 
out his throat. Where had he got to, that he could not 
recognize a single spot? Who had been transforming his 
house in such a way? His memory and recollections 
were quite confused. He could recall nothing but shad¬ 
ows gliding along the passage; two shadows, at first 
poverty-stricken, soft-spoken and self-suppressing, then 
two shadows that were tipsy and disreputable-looking 
and that leered and sniggered. He raised his lamp, the 
wick of which was burning smokily, and the shadows 
grew bigger, lengthened themselves out upon the walls, 
mounted up the wall of the staircase and filled and made 
a prey of the whole house. Some horrid filthiness, 
some fermenting putrescence had found its way into the 
house and had rotted the woodwork, rusted the iron and 
split the walls. Then he seemed to hear the house 
crumbling away like a ceiling falling down from utter 
dampness and to feel it melting away like a handful of 
salt thrown into a basin of hot water. 

Up above there were peals of ringing laughter which 
made his hair stand on end. He put the lamp down 
and went up the stairs to look for Marthe, He crept up 
on his hands and knees without making the slightest 
sound and with all the nimbleness and quietness of a 
wolf. When he reached the landing of the first floor, 
he knelt down in front of the door of the bedroom. A 
ray of light streamed from underneath it. Marthe must 
be going to bed. 

“What a jolly bed this is of theirs," Olympe’s voice 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


361 


exclaimed; "you can quite bury yourself in it, Honors; 

I am right up to my eyes in feathers.” 

She laughed and stretched herself out and sprang 
about in the midst of the bedclothes. 

"Ever since Pve been here,” she continued, "I’ve 
been longing to sleep in this bed. It made me almost 
ill, wishing for it. One gets quite warm directly. I 
feel just as though I were wrapped up in cotton-wool.” 

Trouche, who had not yet got into bed, was examin¬ 
ing the bottles on the dressing-table. 

"She has got all kinds of scents,” he said. 

"Well, as she isn’t here, we may just as well treat 
ourselves to the best room!” Olympe continued. "There’s 
no danger of her coming back and disturbing us. I have 
fastened the doors up. You will be getting cold, Hon¬ 
or^. ” 

Trouche now opened the drawers and began groping 
about amongst the linen. 

"Put this on; it’s smothered with lace,” he said, 
tossing a night-dress to Olympe. I shall wear this red 
handkerchief myself.” 

When Trouche was at last getting into bed, she said 
to him: 

"Put the grog on the night-table. We sha’n’t want 
to get up and go to the other end of the room for it. 
There, my dear, we are like real householders now!” 

They lay down side by side, with the eider-down quilt 
drawn up to their chins, luxuriating in the soft warmth. 

"I ate a lot this evening,” said Trouche after a short 
silence. 

"And drank a lot too!” added Olympe with a laugh. 
"I feel very cozy and snug. But the tiresome part is that 
my mother is always interfering with us. She has been 
quite awful to-day. I can’t take a single step about the 


362 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


house without her being at me. She has quite spoilt 
my day’s enjoyment.” 

“Hasn’t the Abbd some idea of going away?” asked 
Trouche after another short interval of silence. “If he 
is made a bishop he will be obliged to leave the house 
to us.” 

“One can’t be sure of that,” Olympe replied petulantly. 
“I dare say mother means to keep it. How jolly we 
should be here, all by ourselves! I would make our 
landlady sleep upstairs in my brother’s room; I would 
persuade her that it was healthier than this. Pass me 
the glass, Honord. ” 

They both took a drink and then they covered them¬ 
selves up again. 

“Ah!” said Trouche, “I’m afraid it won’t be so easy 
to get rid of them, but we can try, at any rate. I be¬ 
lieve the Abbd would have changed his quarters if he 
had not been afraid that the landlady would have con¬ 
sidered herself deserted and made a bother. I think I’ll 
try to talk the landlady over, and I’ll tell her a lot of 
tales to persuade her to turn them out.” 

They both grew very merry, and they began to plan 
how they would arrange the room. They would change 
the place of the chest of drawers, they said, and they 
would bring up a couple of easy-chairs from the draw¬ 
ing-room. Their speech was growing gradually drow¬ 
sier, and at last they dropped into silence. 

“There! you’re off now!” murmured Olympe, after a 
little time. “You’re snoring with your eyes open! Well, 
let me come to the other side, and at any rate, I can 
finish my novel. I’m not sleepy if you are.” 

She got up and rolled him like a mere lump toward 
the wall, and then began to read. But, before she had 
got through the first page, she turned her head uneasily 
toward the door. She fancied she could hear a strange 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


368 


noise on the landing. Then she cried petulantly to her 
husband, as she gave him a blow with her elbow: 

"You know very well that I don’t like that sort of 
joke. Don’t make yourself into a wolf; anyone would 
fancy that there was one at the door. Well, go on if it 
pleases you; you are very irritating.” 

Then she angrily absorbed herself in her book again, 
after having sucked the slice of lemon in her glass. 

Mouret now quitted, with the same stealthy movements 
as before, the door of the bedroom, where he had re¬ 
mained crouching. He went up to the second floor and 
knelt before the Abb£ Faujas’ door, squeezing himself 
close to the key-hole. He choked down Marthe’s name 
that was rising up in his throat, and he examined with 
his glistening eye the corners of the room and satisfied 
himself that no one was being kept confined there. The 
great, bare room was in deep shadow; a small lamp 
which stood upon the table cast a circular patch of light 
upon the floor, and the priest himself, who was writing, 
seemed like a great black stain in the midst of the yel¬ 
low glare. After he had examined the curtains and be¬ 
hind the chest of drawers, Mouret’s gaze fell upon the 
iron bedstead, upon which the priest’s hat was lying, 
resembling the locks of a woman’s hair. There was no 
doubt that Marthe was in the bed, Mouret thought. 
Hadn’t the Trouches said that she was sleeping up here 
now? But as he continued to gaze he saw that the bed 
was quite undisturbed, and looked, with its cold, white 
coverings, like a tomb-stone. His eyes were getting 
more accustomed to the shadow. The Abb£ Faujas ap¬ 
peared to hear some sound, for he glanced at the door. 
When the maniac saw the priest’s calm face, his eyes 
reddened and a slight foam appeared at the corner of 
his lips, and it was with difficulty that he suppressed a 
shout. Then he went away on his hands and knees again, 


364 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

dov/n the stairs and along the passages, still repeating 
in low tones: 

“Marthe! Marthe!” 

He searched for her through the whole house; in Rose's 
room, which he found empty; in the Trouches’ apart¬ 
ments, which were filled with the spoil of the other 
rooms; in the children's old rooms, where he burst into 
tears as his hands came across a pair of old worn boots 
which had been D£sir£e’s. He went up and down the 
stairs, and soon there was not a single corner from the 
cellar to the attic which he had not investigated. 
Marthe was nowhere in the house; the children were 
not there either, nor Rose. The house was empty; the 
house might crumble to pieces. 

Mouret sat down upon one of the stairs between the 
first and second floors. He choked down that violent 
panting which in spite of himself continued to swell out 
his throat. He sat waiting, with his back leaning 
against the balustrade and his eyes wide open in the 
darkness, absorbed in the contemplation of a scheme 
which he was patiently thinking out. His senses be¬ 
came so acute that he could hear the slightest sounds 
that stirred in the house. Down below him Trouche 
was snoring, and Olympe was turning over the pages of 
her book with a slight rubbing of her fingers against the 
paper. On the second floor the Abb6 Faujas’ pen made 
a scratching sound like the crawling of an insect’s feet, 
while, in the adjoining room, Madame Faujas accom¬ 
panied it as she slept with the noise of her heavy breath¬ 
ing. Mouret sat for an hour with his ears sharply strained. 
Olympe was the first of those who were awake to suc¬ 
cumb to sleep. He could hear her novel fall onto the 
floor. Then the Abb<§ Faujas laid down his pen and un¬ 
dressed himself, gliding quietly about his room in his 
slippers. He slipped his clothes off silently, and he did 


the conquest of plassans 


3G5 


not even make the bed creak as he got into it. Ah! the 
house now had gone to rest. But the madman could 
tell from the sound of the Abb6’s breath that he was 
not yet asleep. Gradually the priest’s breath grew 
deeper. All the house was now asleep. 

Mouret waited on for another half-hour. He still 
listened with strained ears, as though he could hear 
the four sleeping persons descending into deeper and 
deeper depths of slumber. The house lay wrapped in 
darkness and unconsciousness. Then the maniac rose 
up and made his way slowly into the passage. 

• “Marthe isn’t here any longer; the*house isn’t here; 
nothing is here,” he murmured. 

He opened the door that led into the garden, and he 
went down to the little conservatory. When he got in¬ 
side he methodically removed the great dry box-bushes, 
and carried them away in enormous armfuls, taking them 
upstairs ana piling them up in front of the doors of the 
Trouches and the Faujases. He felt a yearning craving 
for a bright light, and he went into the kitchen and light¬ 
ed all the lamps, which he took and placed upon the 
tables in each room, and on the landings, and along the 
passages. Then he brought up the rest of the box- 
bushes. They were now piled up higher than the doors. 
As he was making his last journey with them, he raised 
his eyes and saw the windows. Then he went out into 
the garden again, and got the trunks of the fruit-trees 
and stacked them up under the windows, skillfully ar¬ 
ranging for little currents of air which should make them 
blaze freely. The stack seemed to him only a small one. 

“There is nothing else,” he murmured: “there is cer¬ 
tainly nothing else." 

Then a thought struck him, and he went down into 
the cellar, and recommenced his journeying backward 
and forward. He was now carrying up the supply of 


366 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

fuel for the winter, the coal and the vine-branches and 
the wood. The pile under the windows was growing 
gradually bigger. As he carefully arranged each bundle 
of vine-branches, he was thrilled with a lively sense of 
satisfaction. He next proceeded to distribute the fuel 
through the rooms on- the ground-floor, and he placed a 
heap of it in the entrance-hall, and another heap in the 
kitchen. Then he piled up the furniture on the top of 
the different heaps. An hour had been sufficient for him 
to get his work finished. He had taken his boots off, and 
had glided about all over the house, with heavily laden 
arms, so skillfully and dexterously that he had not let a 
single piece of wood fall roughly. As far as this one 
firmly fixed idea of his went, he was perfectly in posses¬ 
sion of his senses. 

When all was ready, he lingered for a moment to enjoy 
his work. A few fragments of coal had fallen down 
upon the stairs, and he ran off to get a brush, and care¬ 
fully swept the black dust off the steps. Then he made a 
final inspection with the careful precision of a method¬ 
ical man who means to do things in the way that they 
ought to be done. He became gradually excited with his 
lively satisfaction, and he dropped onto his hands and 
knees again, and began to run about, breathing more 
heavily and stertorously in his savage joy. 

Then he took a vine-branch and set fire to the heaps. 
First of all he lighted the pile on the terrace underneath 
the windows. Then he leapt back into the house and 
set fire to the heaps in the drawing-room and dining¬ 
room, and then to those in the kitchen and entrance- 
hall. Then he sprang up the stairs and flung the remains 
of his blazing brand upon the piles that lay against the 
doors of the Trouches and Faujases. An ever-increasing 
rage was thrilling him, and the lurid blaze of the fire 
completed his wild madness. He came down the stairs 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


367 


again in terrific leaps, and rushed up and down through 
the thick smoke, .fanning the flames with his-breath, and 
casting handfuls of coal into them. 

The house was now roaring like an over-crammed 
stove. The flames broke out at all points at once with a 
violence that split the floors. The maniac made his 
way upstairs again through sheets of fire, singeing his 
hair and blackening his clothes. He posted himself on 
the second floor, crouching down on his hands and knees 
and pushing his head forward with a \volf-like growl. 
He kept guard over the landing, and his eyes never 
quitted the priest’s door. 

"Ovide! Ovide!” shrieked a panic-stricken voice. 

Madame Faujas’ door at the end of the landing was 
suddenly opened and the flames swept into the room 
with the roar of a tempest. The old woman could be 
seen in the midst of the fire. Stretching out her arms, 
she hurled aside the blazing brands and sprang onto the 
landing, pulling and pushing away with her hands and 
feet the burning heap that blocked up her son’s door, 
calling out all the while to the priest in utter despair. 
The maniac crouched still lower down, his eyes gleam¬ 
ing fierily as he continued his muttered growl. 

"Wait for me! Don’t get out of the window!” Mad¬ 
ame Faujas cried, striking at her son’s door. 

She pushed against it with all her strength, and the 
charred door yielded easily. She reappeared holding 
her son in her arms. He had taken time to put on his 
cassock, and he was choking and suffocated with the 
smoke. 

"I am going to carry you, Ovide,” she cried, with en¬ 
ergetic determination. "Hold well on to my shoulders, 
and clutch hold of my hair if you feel you are slipping 
down. I’ll carry you through it all.” 

She laid him upon her shoulders as though he were a 


368 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


child, and this sublime mother, this old peasant woman 
carrying her devotion to death itself, did not totter in the 
least beneath the crushing weight of this great swooning, 
unresisting body. She crushed out the burning brands 
with her naked feet and made a free passage through 
the flames by brushing them aside with her hands so that 
her son might not even be touched by them. But just 
as she was about to go downstairs, the maniac, whom she 
had not observed, sprang upon the Abb£ Faujas and tore 
him from off her shoulders. His muttered growl turned 
into a wild shriek, and he broke out into a fit of wild 
violence at the head of the stairs. He belabored the 
priest, tore him with his nails and strangled him. 

“Marthe! Marthe!” he called out. 

Then he rolled down the blazing stairs, still clutching 
the priest’s body in his grasp; while Madame Faujas, 
who had driven her teeth into his throat, drained his 
blood. The Trouches perished in their drunken stupor 
without a groan; and the house, gutted and undermined, 
collapsed in the midst of a cloud of sparks. 


XXIII 

Macquart did not find Doctor Porquier at home, and 
the latter did not arrive at Madame Rougon’still nearly 
half-past twelve. The whole house was still in commo¬ 
tion. Rougon himself was the only one who had not got 
out of bed. Emotion had a killing effect upon him, he said. 
Felicity, who was still sitting in the same chair by Mar- 
the’s bedside rose to meet the doctor. 

“Oh, my dear doctor, we are so very anxious!'’ she 
said. “The poor child has never stirred since we put 
her to bed there. Her hands are already quite cold. 



THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


369 


I have kept them in my own, but it has done no good.” 

Doctor Porquier looked narrowly at Marthe’s face, and 
then, without making any further examination of her, 
and still standing up, he compressed his lips and made 
a vague gesture with his hands. 

"My dear Madame Rougon,” he said, "you must sum¬ 
mon up your courage.” 

Felicitd burst into sobs. 

“The end is at hand,” the doctor continued in a lower 
voice. "I have been expecting this sad termination for 
a long time past; I must confess so much now. Both 
of poor Madame Mouret’s lungs are diseased, and in her 
case phthisis has been complicated by nervous derange¬ 
ments. ” 

He had taken a seat now and a smile still played about 
the corners of his lips, the smile of the polished doctor 
who thinks that even in the presence of death itself a 
suave politeness is demanded of him. 

“Don’t give way and make yourself ill, my dear lady. 
The catastrophe was inevitable and any little accident 
might have hastened it any day. I should imagine that 
poor Madame Mouret must have been subject to cough¬ 
ing when she was very young; wasn’t she? I should say 
that the germs of the disease have been incubating with¬ 
in her for a good many years past. Latterly and espec¬ 
ially within the last three years, phthisis has been mak¬ 
ing frightful strides in her. How pious and devotional 
she was! I have been quite touched to see her passing 
away in such sanctity. Well, well, the decrees of Provi¬ 
dence are inscrutable; science is very often quite una¬ 
vailing. ” 

He settled himself comfortably for the night in an 
easy chair; Felicitd grew a little calmer. When Doctor 
Porquier gave her to understand that Marthe had only 
a few more hours to live, she thought of sending off for 
24 


370 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


Serge from the Seminary, which was near at hand. She 
asked Rose to go there for him, but the cook refused at 
first. 

“Do you want to kill the poor little fellow as well?" 
she exclaimed. ‘‘It would be too great a shock for him 
to be called up in the middle of the night to come and 
see a dead woman. I won’t be his murderer!" 

In the end, however, she consented to go to the Sem¬ 
inary. Doctor Porquier had stretched himself out in 
front of the fire and with half-closed eyes he continued to 
pour out consolatory and kind words to Madame Rougon. 
A slight rattling sound began to be heard in Marthe’s 
chest. Uncle Macquart, who had not appeared again 
since he went away two good hours before, now gently 
pushed the door open. 

“Where have you been to?" Felicitd asked him, taking 
him into a corner of the room. 

He told her that he had been to put his horse and trap 
up at The Three Pigeons. But his eyes sparkled so, and 
there was such a look of diabolical cunning about him, 
that she was filled with a thousand suspicions. 

“Anyone would imagine that you had :been following 
and playing the spy upon somebody," she said, looking 
at his muddy trousers. “You are concealing something 
from me, Macquart. It is not right of you. We have 
always treated you very well." 

“Oh, very well, indeed!” sniggered Macquart. “Pm 
glad you’ve told me so. Rougon is a skin-flint. He 
treated me like the lowest of the low in the matter of 
that corn-field. Where is Rougon? Snoozing comforta¬ 
bly in his bed, eh? It’s little he cares for all the troub¬ 
le one takes about his relations." 

The smile with which he accompanied these last 
words very much disquieted Felicitd, She looked him 
keenly in the face. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


371 


"What trouble have you taken for his relations?" she 
asked. "Are you going to grudge having brought back 
my poor Marthe from Les Tulettes? I tell you again 
that all that business has a very suspicious look. I have 
been questioning Rose, and it seems to me that you 
wanted to come straight here. It surprises me that you 
did not knock more loudly in the Rue Balande; they 
would have come and opened the door. Pm not saying 
this because I don’t want my dear child to be here; I 
am glad to think, on the contrary, that she will, at any 
rate, die amongst her own people, and will have only 
loving faces about her." 

Macquart seemed greatly surprised, and he interrupted 
her by saying with an uneasy manner* 

"I thought you and the Abb6 Faujas were the best of 
friends.” 

She made no reply, but stepped up to Marthe, whose 
breathing was now becoming more difficult. When she 
left the bedside again, she saw Macquart trying to look 
out into the darkness. He had raised the blind, and 
was rubbing the moist pane with his hand. 

"Don’t go away to-morrow without coming and talk¬ 
ing to me,” she said to him. "I want to have all this 
cleared up.” 

"Just as you like,” he replied. "You are very difficult 
to please. First you like people, and then you don’t 
like them. I always keep on in the same regular easy¬ 
going way.” 

He was evidently very much vexed to discover that the 
Rougons no longer made common cause with the Abb6 
Faujas. He tapped the glass with the tips of his fin¬ 
gers, and still kept his eyes on the black night. Just at 
this moment the sky was reddened by a bright glow. 

"What is that?” Felicitd asked. 

Macquart opened the window and looked out. It 


37 $ 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


looks like a fire,” he said unconcernedly. “There is 
something burning behind the Sub-Prefecture.” 

There were sounds of commotion in the Place. A 
servant came into the room with a scared look and told 
them that the house of madame’s daughter was on fire. 
It was believed, he continued, that madame’s son-in-law, 
he whom they had been obliged to shut up, had been 
seen walking about the garden carrying a burning vine- 
branch. The most unfortunate part of the matter was 
that it was considered hopeless to save the lodgers. Fe- 
licitd turned herself sharply round, and pondered for a 
minute, keeping her eyes fixed upon Macquart. Then 
she understood it all clearly. 

“You promised me solemnly,” she said in a low voice, 
“to conduct yourself quietly and decently when we set 
you up in your little house at Les Tulettes. You have 
everything that you want,and are quite independent. This 
is abominable, disgraceful, I tell you! How much has 
the Abb£ Fenil given you to let Francois escape?’” 

Macquart was going to break out angrily, but Ma¬ 
dame Rougon made him keep silent. She seemed much 
more uneasy about the consequences of the matter than 
indignant at the crime itself. 

“And what a terrible scandal there will be, if it all 
comes out,” she continued. “Have we ever refused you 
anything? We will talk together to-morrow, and we 
will speak again of that corn-field about which you are 
so bitter against us. If Rougon were to come to hear 
of such a thing as this, he would die of annoyance.” 

Macquart could not keep from smiling. He defended 
himself energetically, and swore that he knew nothing 
about the matter, and that he had had no hand in it. 
Then, as the sky was growing redder, and as Doctor 
Porquier had already gone downstairs, he left the room, 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 373 

saying with an air of being anxiously curious about the 
matter: 

“I am going to see what is happening.” 

It was Monsieur Pdqueur des Saulaies who had given 
the alarm. There had been an evening-party at the 
Sub-Prefecture, and he was just going to bed when a 
few minutes before one o’clock he saw a strange red re¬ 
flection upon the ceiling of his bed-room. Going to the 
window, he was struck with astonishment at seeing 
a great tire burning in the Mourets’ garden, while a 
shadow, which he did not recognize at first, was dancing 
about in the midst of the smoke, brandishing a blazing 
vine-branch. Almost immediately afterward flames 
broke out from all the openings on the ground-floor. 
The sub-prefect hurriedly put on his trousers again, 
called for his servant, and sent the porter off to summon 
the fire-brigade and the authorities. Then, before going 
to the scene of the disaster, he finished dressing himself 
and stood before his mirror to assure himself that his 
mustache was quite as it should be. He was the first 
to arrive in the Rue Balande. The street was absolutely 
deserted, save for two cats which were rushing across it. 

“They will let themselves be broiled like cutlets inside 
there!” thought Monsieur Pdqueur des Saulaies, aston¬ 
ished at the quiet and sleepy appearance of the house 
on the street side, where as yet there was no sign of 
the conflagration. 

He knocked loudly at the door, but he could hear noth¬ 
ing but the roaring of the fire in the well of the stair¬ 
case. Then he knocked at Monsieur Rastoil’s door. 
There piercing screams were heard, and hurried rust¬ 
lings to and fro, banging of doors and choking shouts. 

“Aurdlie, cover up your shoulders!” the presidents 
voice cried. 

Monsieur Rastoil rushed out onto the pathway, fol- 


374 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


lowed by Madame Rastoil and her younger daughter, the 
one who was still unmarried. In her hurry, Aur£lie had 
thrown over her shoulders a cloak of her father’s which 
left her shoulders bare. She turned very red as she caught 
sight of Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies. 

“What a terrible disaster!” stammered the president. 
“Everything will be burnt down. The wall of my bed¬ 
room is quite hot already. The two houses are almost 
joined. Ah! my dear sub-prefect, I haven’t even stopped 
to remove the time-pieces. We must organize assistance. 
We can’t stand by and watch all our belongings destroyed 
in an hour or two. ” 

Madame Rastoil, scantily covered with a dressing-cape, 
was bewailing her drawing-room furniture, which she 
had only just had newly covered. By this time, several 
of the neighbors had appeared at their windows. The 
president summoned them to his assistance and com¬ 
menced to remove his effects from his house. He made 
the time-pieces his own particular charge, and he brought 
them out and deposited them on the pathway opposite. 
When the easy-chairs from the drawing-room were car¬ 
ried out, he made his wife and daughter sit down, and the 
sub-prefect remained by their side to encourage them. 

“Make yourselves easy, ladies," he said. “The engine 
will be here directly and then there will be a vigorous 
attack made upon the fire. I think I may undertake to 
promise that your house will be saved.” 

The windows of the Mourets’ house burst open, and 
the flames broke out from the first floor. Suddenly the 
street was lighted up by a bright glow, and it was as light 
as mid-day. A drummer was passing through the Place 
of the Sub-Prefecture some distance off, sounding the 
alarm. A number of men ran up and a chain was formed, 
but there were no buckets and the engine did not arrive. 
In the midst of the general consternation, Monsieur 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


375 


P^queur des Saulaies without leaving the two ladies, 
shouted out orders in a loud voice: 

“Leave a free passage! The chain is too closely 
tormed down there! keep yourselves two feet apart!” 

Then he turned to Aur^lie and said in a low voice: 

“I am very much surprised that the engine has not ar¬ 
rived yet. It is a new engine. This will be the first 
time it has been used. I sent the porter off immediately, 
and I told him also to call at the police-station.” 

The gendarmes were the first to arrive. They kept 
back the curious spectators, whose number was increas¬ 
ing, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The sub¬ 
prefect himself went to put the chain in a better order, 
as it was bulging out in the middle, through the pushing 
about of some rough fellows who had run up from the 
outskirts of the town. The little bell of Saint-Saturnin’s 
was sounding the alarm in its cracked notes, and a second 
drum was beating faintly at the bottom of the street. At 
last the engine arrived with a noisy clatter. The crowd 
made way for it, and the fifteen firemen of Plassans made 
their appearance, running and panting; but, in spite of 
Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies’s active intervention, it 
took another good quarter of an hour before the engine 
was in working order. 

At last a jet of water shot up, and the crowd gave a 
sigh of satisfaction. The house was now blazing from 
the ground floor to the second floor like a huge torch. 
The water hissed as it fell into the burning mass, and 
the flames, separating themselves into yellow tongues, 
seemed to shoot up still higher than before. Some of 
the firemen had mounted onto the roof of the president’s 
house, and were breaking open the tiles with their picks 
on the chance of the fire extending to it. 

“It’s all up with the place!” muttered Macquart, who 
was standing quietly on the pathway with his hands in 


376 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

his pockets, watching the progress of the fire with a 
lively interest. 

Out in the street a perfect open-air drawing-room had 
been established. The easy-chairs were arranged in a 
semi-circle as though to allow their occupants to watch 
the spectacle at their ease. Madame de Condamin and 
her husband had just arrived. They had scarcely got 
back home from the Sub-Prefecture, they said, when 
they heard the drum beating the alarm. Monsieur de 
Bourdeu, Monsieur Maffre, Doctor Porquier, and Mon¬ 
sieur Delangre, accompanied by several members of the 
municipal council, had also lost no time in hastening to 
the scene. They all clustered round poor Madame Ras- 
toil and her daughter, trying to comfort and console 
them with sympathetic remarks. After a time they sat 
down in the easy-chairs, and a general conversation took 
place while the engine was snorting away half a score 
yards off, and the blazing beams were cracking loudly. 

Monsieur P^queur des Saulaies still showed the greatest 
calmness and kindly attention. 

“I assure you that your house is in no danger at all,” 
he said to the president; “the force of the fire is spent 
now.” 

Madame de Condamin was questioning the sub-prefect. 

“Oh! that is terrible!” she cried. “I thought that the 
lodgers had had time to escape. Has nothing been seen 
of the Abb£ Faujas?” 

“I knocked at the door myself,” said Monsieur Pdqueur 
des Saulaies, “but I couldn’t make anyone hear. When 
the firemen arrived I had the door broken open and I 
ordered them to place the ladders against the windows. 
But nothing was of any use. One of our brave gen¬ 
darmes, who ventured into the lobby, narrowly escaped 
being suffocated with the smoke—” 

“As the Abbd Faujas has been, I suppose! What a 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


8W 

horrible death!” said the fair Octavie with a shudder. 

The ladies and gentlemen looked into one another’s 
faces, that showed pale in the flickering light of the Are. 
Doctor Porquier explained to them that death by fire 
was probably not so painful as they imagined. 

“When the fire once reaches one,” he said in conclu¬ 
sion, “it can only be a matter of few seconds. Of course 
it depends, to some extent, upon the violence of the 
conflagration.” 

Some one called out that the wind was carring the 
sparks toward the Sub-Prefecture, and Monsieur P6- 
queur des Saulaies immediately sprang up, and mak¬ 
ing apologies for his departure, hastened off to guard 
against this new danger. Monsieur Delangre was anxious 
that a last attempt should be made to rescue the vic¬ 
tims. The captain of the fire-brigade roughly told him 
to go up the ladder himself if he thought such a thing 
possible; he had never seen such a fire before, he said. 
The devil himself must have lighted it, for the house 
was burning like a bundle of chips, at all points at once. 
The mayor, followed by some kindly disposed persons, 
then went round into the Chevillottes alley. Perhaps, 
he said, it would be possible to get to the windows from 
the garden side. 

“It would be very magnificent if it were not so sad,” 
remarked Madame de Condamin, who was now calmer. 

The fire was certainly becoming a superb spectacle. 
Showers of sparks rushed up in the midst of huge blue 
flames; chasms of glowing red showed themselves be¬ 
hind each of the gaping windows, while the smoke rolled 
gently away in a huge purplish cloud, like the smoke 
from Bengal lights set burning at some display of fire¬ 
works. 

"Look at the third window on the second floor!" Mon¬ 
sieur Maffre cried out suddenly. “You can see a bed 


378 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASS/tNS 


burning quite distinctly on the left hand. It has yellow 
curtains, and they are blazing like so much paper. 

Monsieur Pequeur des Saulaies now returned at a gen¬ 
tle trot to reassure the ladies and gentlemen. It had 
been a false alarm. 

"The sparks,” he said, "are certainly being carried by 
the wind toward the Sub-Prefecture, but they are extin¬ 
guished in the air before they reach it. There is no 
further danger. They have got the fire well in hand.” 

"But,” asked Madame de Condamin, "is it known how 
the fire originated?" 

Monsieur de Bourdeu asserted that he had first of all 
seen a dense smoke issuing from the kitchen. Monsieur 
Maffre alleged, on the other hand, that the flames had 
first appeared in a room on the first floor. The sub¬ 
prefect shook his head with an air of official prudence, 
and said in a low voice: 

"I am much afraid that malice has had something to 
do with the disaster. I have ordered an inquiry to be 
made. ” 

Then he went on to tell them that he had seen a man 
lighting the fire with a vine-branch. 

"Yes, I saw him, too,” interrupted Aur^ie Rastoil. 
"It was Monsieur Mouret.” 

This statement created the greatest astonishment. The 
thing seemed impossible. Monsieur Mouret escaping 
and burning down his house—what a frightful story! 
They overwhelmed Aur£lie with questions. She blushed, 
and her mother looked at her severely. It was scarcely 
proper for a young girl to be thus constantly looking out 
of her window at nights. 

"I assure you that I distinctly recognized Monsieur 
Mouret,” she continued. "I had not gone to sleep, and 
I got up when I saw a bright light. Monsieur Mouret 
was dancing about in the midst of the fire.” 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


379 


Then the sub-prefect spoke: 

“Mademoiselle is quite correct. I recognize the un¬ 
happy man now. He looked so terrible that I was in 
doubt as to who it was, although his face seemed famil¬ 
iar to me. Excuse me; this is a very serious matter, and 
I must go and give some orders.” 

He went away again, while the company began to dis¬ 
cuss this terrible affair of a landlord burning his lodgers 
to death. Monsieur de Bourdeu inveighed hotly against 
asylums. The surveillance exercised in them, he said, 
was most insufficient. The truth was that Monsieur 
de Bourdeu was greatly afraid that the prefecture which 
the Abbd Fauias had promised him was being burnt 
away in the fire before him. “Maniacs are extremely 
revengeful,” was all that Monsieur de Condamin said. 

This remark seemed to embarrass everyone, and the 
conversation dropped entirely. The ladies shuddered 
slightly, while the men exchanged peculiar glances. 
The burning house had become an object of still greater 
interest now that they knew whose hand had set it on 
fire. They blinked their eyes with a thrill of delicious 
terror as they gazed upon the glowing pile and thought 
of the drama that had been enacted there. 

“If old Mouret is in there, that makes five,” said 
Monsieur de Condamin. The ladies hushed him and 
told him that he was a cold-blooded, unfeeling man. 

The Paloques had been watching the fire since its 
commencement from the window of their dining-room. 
They were just above the drawing-room that had been 
improvised upon the pathway. The judge’s wife at last 
went out, and graciously offered shelter and hospitality 
to the Rastoil ladies and their friends who were sur¬ 
rounding them. 

Everyone declared that it was very pleasant here, and 
so Madame Paloque determined to remain there with 


380 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


them and to take a seat in one of the easy-chairs. 

Monsieur P6queur des Saulaies had re-appeared again 
and was quite indefatigable, but he never neglected the 
iadies in spite of the duties and anxieties of all kinds 
with which he was overwhelmed. He sprang hastily 
forward to meet Monsieur Delangre, who was just com¬ 
ing back from the Chevillottes alley. They talked to¬ 
gether in low tones. The mayor had apparently wit¬ 
nessed some terrible sight, for he kept passing his hand 
over his face, as though he were trying to drive away 
from his eyes some awful vision that was pursuing him. 
The ladies could only hear him murmuring, "We arrived 
too late! It was horrible!” He would not answer any 
questions. 

"It will be only Bourdeu and Delangre who will regret 
the Abb6, ” Monsieur de Condamin whispered into Ma¬ 
dame Paloque’s ear. 

‘‘They had business on hand with him,” the latter re¬ 
plied, tranquilly. ‘‘Ah! here is the Abb6 Bourrette! He 
is weeping from genuine sorrow.” 

The Abb6 Bourrette, who had formed part of the chain, 
was sobbing bitterly. The poor man refused all conso¬ 
lation. He would not sit down in one of the easy chairs, 
but remained standing with anxious troubled eyes, watch¬ 
ing the last beams burn away. The Abbd Surin had also 
been seen, but he had disappeared after having picked up, 
by mixing with the crowd, all the information he could. 

‘‘Come along, let us be off to bed!” exclaimed Mon¬ 
sieur de Bourdeu. ‘‘It is foolish of us to go on stopping 
here.” 

“It is all over!” thought Macquart, who still kept 
his position on the opposite pathway. 

He remained there for a few moments longer, listen¬ 
ing to the last words which Monsieur de Condamin was 
exchanging in low tones with Madame Paloque. 


THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 


381 


“Bah!” said the judge’s wife, “no one will cry for him, 
unless it’s that great gander Bourrette. He had grown 
quite unendurable, and we were all nothing but slaves. 
Monseigneur, I dare say, has got a smiling face just now. 
Plassans is at last delivered!” 

“And the Rougons!” exclaimed Monsieur de Conda- 
min, “they must be quite delighted.” 

“I should think so indeed. The Rougons must be up 
in the skies. They will inherit the Abb6’s conquest. 
Ah! they would have paid anyone very well who would 
have run the risk of setting the house on fire.” 

Macquart went away feeling very dissatisfied. He was 
beginning to fear that he had been duped. The joy of 
the Rougons filled him with consternation. The Rou¬ 
gons were crafty folks who always played a double game, 
and whose opponents were quite certain to end by get¬ 
ting the worst of the stxuggle. As Macquart crossed the 
Place of the Sub-Prefecture he swore to himself that he 
would never go to work in this blindfold way again. 

As he went upstairs to the room where Marthe lay 
dying, he found Rose sitting on one of the steps. She 
was in a fuming rage. 

“No, indeed, I will certainly not stop in the room!" 
she cried. “I won’t look on and see such things. Let 
her die without me; let her die like a dog! I have no 
longer any love for her, I have no love for anyone. To 
send for the poor little fellow to kill him! And I con¬ 
sented to go for him! I shall hate myself for it all my 
life! He was as white as his night-shirt, the angel! I 
was obliged to carry him here from the Seminary. Oh! 
it’s a cruel shame! And there he has gone into the 
room now to kiss her! It quite makes my flesh creep. 
I wish the whole house would topple down on our heads 
and finish us all off at one stroke! One’s whole life 


382 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS 

seems made up of things that make one weep and make 
one angry.” 

Macquart entered the room. Madame Rougon was on 
her knees, burying her face in her hands, and Serge, 
with the tears streaming down his cheeks, was standing 
by the side of the bed, supporting the head of the dying 
woman. She had not yet regained consciousness. The 
last flickering flames of the conflagration cast a ruddy 
reflection upon the ceiling of the room. 

A convulsive tremor shook Marthe’s body. She opened 
her eyes with an expression of surprise and she rose up 
in bed to glance around her. Then she clasped her hands 
together with a look of unutterable terror and died as 
she caught sight of Serge’s cassock in the crimson glow. 


THE END. 


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